< 


THE   WINGS  OF   THE  DOVE 


3S?  tbe  Same 


THE   SACRED   FOUNT. 
I  vol.      izmo.  i-O' 


THE    WINGS    OF 
THE    DOVE^ 


„ 


HENRY    JAMES 


VOLUME  II 


NEW   YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 
1902 


SERAL 


COPYRIGHT,  1902,  BV 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

Published,  August,  1902 


TMOW  DIKICTOMV 

PRINTING  AND   BOOKBINDING  COMPANY 
NEW  YORK 


Vi 


BOOK  SIXTH 


THE    WINGS    OF    THE    DOVE 

BOOK    SIXTH 

XVII 

IS  AY,  you  know,  Kate — you  did  stay !  "  had 
been  Merton  Densher's  punctual  remark  on 
their  adventure  after  they  had,  as  it  were,  got  out  of 
it;  an  observation  which  she  not  less  promptly,  on 
her  side,  let  him  see  that  she  forgave  in  him  only 
because  he  was  a  man.  She  had  to  recognise,  with 
whatever  disappointment,  that  it  was  doubtless  the 
most  helpful  he  could  make  in  this  character.  The 
fact  of  the  adventure  was  flagrant  between  them; 
they  had  looked  at  each  other,  on  gaining  the  street, 
as  people  look  who  have  just  rounded  together  a 
dangerous  corner,  and  there  was  therefore  already 
enough  unanimity  sketched  out  to  have  lighted,  for 
her  companion,  anything  equivocal  in  her  action. 
But  the  amount  of  light  men  did  need ! — Kate  could 
have  been  eloquent  at  this  moment  about  that. 
What,  however,  on  his  seeing  more,  struck  him  as 
most  distinct  in  her  was  her  sense  that,  reunited  after 
his  absence  and  having  been  now  half  the  morning 

3 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE   DOVE 

together,  it  behooved  them  to  face  without  delay  the 
question  of  handling  their  immediate  future.  That 
it  would  require  some  handling,  that  they  should  still 
have  to  deal,  deal  in  a  subtle  spirit,  with  difficulties 
and  delays,  was  the  great  matter  he  had  come  back 
to,  greater  than  any  but  the  refreshed  consciousness 
of  their  personal  need  of  each  other.  This  need  had 
had  twenty  minutes,  the  afternoon  before,  to  find  out 
where  it  stood,  and  the  time  was  fully  accounted  for 
by  the  charm  of  the  demonstration.  He  had  arrived 
at  Euston  at  five,  having  wired  her  from  Liverpool 
the  moment  he  landed,  and  she  had  quickly  decided 
to  meet  him  at  the  station,  whatever  publicity  might 
attend  such  an  act.  When  he  had  praised  her  for 
it  on  alighting  from  his  train  she  had  answered 
frankly  enough  that  such  things  should  be  taken  at 
a  jump.  She  didn't  care  to-day  who  saw  her,  and 
she  profited  by  it  for  her  joy.  To-morrow,  inevita 
bly,  she  should  have  time  to  think  and  then,  as  inev 
itably,  would  become  a  creature  of  precautions.  It 
was  none  the  less  for  to-morrow  at  an  early  hour 
that  she  had  appointed  their  next  meeting,  keeping 
in  mind  for  the  present  a  particular  obligation  to 
show  at  Lancaster  Gate  by  six  o'clock.  She  had 
given,  with  imprecations,  her  reason — people  to  tea, 
eternally,  and  a  promise  to  Aunt  Maud ;  but  she  had 
been  liberal  enough  on  the  spot  and  had  suggested 
the  National  Gallery  for  the  morning  quite  as  with 
an  idea  that  had  ripened  in  expectancy.  They  might 
be  seen  there  too,  but  nobody  would  know  them; 

4 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

just  as,  for  that  matter,  now,  in  the  refreshment- 
room  to  which  they  had  adjourned,  they  would  incur 
the  notice  but,  at  the  worst,  of  the  unacquainted. 
They  would  "  have  something  "  there  for  the  facility 
it  would  give.  Thus  had  it  already  come  up  for 
them  again  that  they  had  no  place  of  convenience. 

He  found  himself  on  English  soil  with  all  sorts  of 
feelings,  but  he  had  not  quite  faced  having  to  reckon 
with  a  certain  ruefulness  on  that  subject  as  one  of 
the  strongest.  He  was  aware  later  on  that  there 
were  questions  his  impatience  had  shirked ;  whereby 
it  actually  rather  smote  him,  for  want  of  preparation 
and  assurance,  that  he  had  nowhere  to  "  take  "  his 
love.  He  had  taken  it  thus,  at  Euston — and  on 
Kate's  own  suggestion — into  the  place  where  people 
had  beer  and  buns,  and  had  ordered  tea  at  a  small 
table  in  the  corner;  which,  no  doubt,  as  they  were 
lost  in  the  crowd,  did  well  enough  for  a  stopgap.  It 
perhaps  did  as  well  as  her  simply  driving  with  him 
to  the  door  of  his  lodging,  which  had  had  to  figure 
as  the  sole  device  of  his  own  wit.  That  wit,  the 
truth  was,  had  broken  down  a  little  at  the  sharp  pre 
vision  that  once  at  his  door  they  would  have  to  hang 
back.  She  would  have  to  stop  there,  wouldn't  come 
in  with  him,  couldn't  possibly;  and  he  shouldn't  be 
able  to  ask  her,  would  feel  he  couldn't  without  be 
traying  a  deficiency  of  what  would  be  called,  even 
at  their  advanced  stage,  respect  for  her :  that  again 
was  all  that  was  clear  except  the  further  fact  that  it 
was  maddening.  Compressed  and  concentrated, 

5 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

confined  to  a  single  sharp  pang  or  two,  but  none  the 
less  in  wait  for  him  there  on  the  Euston  platform 
and  lifting  its  head  as  that  of  a  snake  in  the  garden, 
was  the  disconcerting  sense  that  "  respect,"  in  their 
game,  seemed  somehow — he  scarce  knew  what  to 
call  it — a  fifth  wheel  to  the  coach.  It  was  properly 
an  inside  thing,  not  an  outside,  a  thing  to  make  love 
greater,  not  to  make  happiness  less.  They  had  met 
again  for  happiness,  and  he  distinctly  felt,  during 
his  most  lucid  moment  or  two,  how  he  must  keep 
wratch  on  anything  that  really  menaced  that  boon. 
If  Kate  had  consented  to  drive  away  with  him  and 
alight  at  his  house,  there  would  probably  enough 
have  occurred  for  them,  at  the  foot  of  his  steps,  one 
of  those  strange  instants  between  man  and  woman 
that  blow  upon  the  red  spark,  the  spark  of  conflict, 
ever  latent  in  the  depths  of  passion.  She  would 
have  shaken  her  head — oh  sadly,  divinely — on  the 
question  of  coming  in ;  and  he,  though  doing  all  jus 
tice  to  her  refusal,  would  have  yet  felt  his  eyes  reach 
further  into  her  own  than  a  possible  word,  at  such  a 
time,  could  reach.  This  would  have  meant  the  sus 
picion,  the  dread  of  the  shadow,  of  an  adverse  will. 
Lucky  therefore,  in  the  actual  case,  that  the  scant 
minutes  took  another  turn  and  that  by  the  half -hour 
she  did  in  spite  of  everything  contrive  to  spend  with 
him  Kate  showed  so  well  how  she  could  deal  with 
the  maddening.  She  seemed  to  ask  him,  to  beseech 
him,  and  all  for  his  better  comfort,  to  leave  her,  now 
and  henceforth,  to  meet  it  in  her  own  way. 

6 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

She  had  still  met  it  in  naming  so  promptly,  for 
their  early  convenience  one  of  the  great  museums; 
and  indeed  with  such  happy  art  that  his  fully  seeing 
where  she  had  placed  him  had  not  been  till  after  he 
left  her.  His  absence  from  her  for  so  many  weeks 
had  had  such  an  effect  upon  him  that  his  demands, 
his  desires  had  grown;  and  only  the  night  before, 
as  his  ship  steamed,  beneath  summer  stars,  in  sight 
of  the  Irish  coast,  he  had  felt  all  the  force  of  his  par 
ticular  necessity.  He  had  not  in  other  words  at  any 
point,  doubted  he  was  on  his  way  to  say  to  her  that 
really  their  mistake  must  end.  Their  mistake  was  to 
have  believed  that  they  could  hold  out — hold  out,  that 
is,  not  against  Aunt  Maud,  but  against  an  impatience 
that,  prolonged,  made  a  man  ill.  He  had  known 
more  than  ever,  on  their  separating  in  the  court  of 
the  station,  how  ill  a  man,  and  even  a  woman,  could 
be  with  it;  but  he  struck  himself  as  also  knowing 
that  he  had  already  suffered  Kate  to  begin  finely  to 
manipulate  it.  It  had  a  vulgar  sound — as  through 
out,  in  love,  the  names  of  things,  the  verbal  terms  of 
intercourse,  were,  compared  with  love  itself,  vulgar ; 
but  it  was  as  if,  after  all,  he  might  have  come  back 
to  find  himself  "  put  off,"  though  it  would  take  him 
of  course  a  day  or  two  to  see.  His  letters  from  the 
States  had  pleased  whom  it  concerned,  though  not 
so  much  as  he  had  meant  they  should ;  and  he  should 
be  paid  according  to  agreement  and  would  now  take 
up  his  money.  It  was  not  in  truth  very  much  to 
take  up,  so  that  he  hadn't  in  the  least  come  back 

7 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

flourishing  a  cheque-book;  that  new  motive  for 
bringing  his  mistress  to  terms  he  couldn't  therefore 
pretend  to  show.  The  ideal  certainty  would  have 
been  to  be  able  to  present  a  change  of  prospect  as  a 
warrant  for  the  change  of  philosophy,  and  without 
it  he  should  have  to  make  shift  but  with  the  pretext 
of  the  lapse  of  time.  The  lapse  of  time — not  so 
many  weeks,  after  all,  she  might  always  of  course 
say — couldn't  at  any  rate  have  failed  to  do  some 
thing  for  him;  and  that  consideration  it  was  that 
had  just  now  tided  him  over,  all  the  more  that  he  had 
his  vision  of  what  it  had  done  personally  for  Kate. 
This  had  come  out  for  him  with  a  splendour  that 
almost  scared  him  even  in  their  small  corner  of  the 
room  at  Euston — almost  scared  him  because  it  just 
seemed  to  blaze  at  him  that  waiting  was  the  game 
of  dupes.  Not  yet  had  she  been  so  the  creature  he 
had  originally  seen ;  not  yet  had  he  felt  so  soundly, 
safely  sure.  It  was  all  there  for  him,  playing  on  his 
pride  of  possession  as  a  hidden  master,  in  a  great 
dim  church,  might  play  on  the  grandest  organ.  His 
final  sense  was  that  a  woman  couldn't  be  like  that 
and  then  ask  of  one  the  impossible. 

She  had  been  like  that  afresh  on  the  morrow ;  and 
so  for  the  hour  they  had  been  able  to  float  in  the  mere 
joy  of  contact — such  contact  as  their  situation,  in 
pictured  public  halls,  permitted.  This  poor  make 
shift  f»r  closeness  confessed  itself  in  truth,  by  twenty 
small  signs  of  unrest  even  on  Kate's  part  inadequate ; 
so  little  could  a  decent  interest  in  the  interesting 

8 


THE  WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

place  presume  to  remind  them  of  its  claims.  They 
had  met  there  in  order  not  to  meet  in  the  streets  and 
not  again,  with  a  want  of  fancy,  at  a  railway-station ; 
not  again,  either,  in  Kensington  Gardens,  which, 
they  could  easily  and  tacitly  agree,  would  have  had 
too  much  of  the  taste  of  their  old  frustrations.  The 
present  taste,  the  taste  that  morning  in  the  pictured 
halls,  had  been  a  variation;  yet  Densher  had  at  the 
end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  fully  known  what  to  con 
clude  from  it.  This  fairly  consoled  him  for  their 
awkwardness,  as  if  he  had  been  watching  it  affect 
her.  She  might  be  as  nobly  charming  as  she  liked, 
and  he  had  seen  nothing  to  touch  her  in  the  States ; 
she  couldn't  pretend  that  in  such  conditions  as  those 
she  herself  believed  it  enough  for  him.  She  couldn't 
pretend  she  believed  he  would  believe  it  enough  for 
herself.  It  was  not  enough  for  herself — she  showed 
him  it  was  not.  That  was  what  he  could  be  glad, 
by  demonstration,  to  have  brought  her  to.  He 
would  have  said  to  her  had  he  put  it  crudely  and  on 
the  spot :  "  Now  am  I  to  understand  you  that  you 
consider  this  sort  of  thing  can  go  on  ?  "  It  would 
have  been  open  to  her,  no  doubt,  to  reply  that  to  have 
him  with  her  again,  to  have  him  all  so  dear  and  so 
perfectly  proved  and  attested  as  she  had  held  him  in 
their  yearning  interval,  was  a  sort  of  thing  that  he 
must  allow  her  to  have  no  quarrel  about;  but  that 
would  be  a  mere  gesture  of  her  grace,  a  mere  sport 
of  her  subtlety.  She  knew  as  well  as  he  what  they 
wanted;  in  spite  of  which  ideed  he  scarce  could  have 

9 


THE   WINGS  OF   THE   DOVE 

said  how  beautifully  he  mightn't  once  more  have 
named  it  and  urged  it  if  she  hadn't,  at  a  given  mo 
ment,  blurred,  as  it  were,  the  accord.  They  had  soon 
seated  themselves  for  better  talk,  and  so  they  had 
remained  awhile,  intimate  and  superficial.  The  im 
mediate  things  to  say  had  been  many,  for  they  had 
not  exhausted  them  at  Euston.  They  drew  upon 
them  freely  now,  and  Kate  appeared  quite  to  forget 
— which  was  amazingly  becoming  to  her — to  look 
about  for  surprises.  He  was  to  try  afterwards,  and 
try  in  vain,  to  remember  what  speech  or  what  silence 
of  his  own,  what  natural  sign  of  the  eyes  or  acciden 
tal  touch  of  the  hand,  had  precipitated  for  her,  in  the 
midst  of  this,  a  sudden  different  impulse.  She  had 
got  up,  with  inconsequence,  as  if  to  break  the  charm, 
though  he  was  not  aware  of  what  he  had  done  at  the 
moment  to  make  the  charm  a  danger.  She  had 
patched  it  up  agreeably  enough  the  next  minute  by 
some  odd  remark  about  some  picture,  to  which  he 
had  not  so  much  as  replied ;  it  being  quite  independ 
ently  of  this  that  he  had  himself  exclaimed  on  the 
dreadful  closeness  of  the  rooms.  He  had  observed 
that  they  must  go  out  again  to  breathe ;  and  it  was 
as  if  their  common  consciousness,  while  they  passed 
into  another  part,  was  that  of  persons  who,  infinitely 
engaged  together,  had  been  startled  and  were  trying 
to  look  natural.  It  was  probably  while  they  were 
so  occupied — as  the  young  man  subsequently  recon- 
ceived — that  they  had  stumbled  upon  his  little  New 
York  friend.  He  thought  of  her  for  some  reason 

no 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

as  little,  though  she  was  of  about  Kate's  height,  to 
which,  any  more  than  to  any  other  felicity  in  his 
mistress,  he  had  never  applied  the  diminutive. 

What  was  to  be  in  the  retrospect  more  distinct  to 
him  was  the  process  by  which  he  had  become  aware 
that  Kate's  acquaintance  with  her  was  greater  than 
he  had  gathered.  She  had  written  of  it  in  due 
course  as  a  new  and  amusing  one,  and  he  had  writ 
ten  back  that  he  had  met  over  there,  and  that  he 
much  liked,  the  young  person,  whereupon  she  had 
rejoined  that  he  must  find  out  about  her  at  home. 
Kate,  in  the  event,  however,  had  not  returned  to 
that,  and  he  had  of  course,  with  so  many  things  to 
find  out  about,  been  otherwise  taken  up.  Little  Miss 
Theale's  history  was  not  stuff  for  his  paper ;  besides 
which,  moreover,  he  was  seeing  but  too  many  little 
Miss  Theales.  They  even  went  so  far  as  to  impose 
themselves  as  one  of  the  groups  of  social  phenomena 
that  fell  into  the  scheme  of  his  public  letters.  For 
this  group  in  especial  perhaps — the  irrepressible,  the 
supereminent  young  persons  —  his  best  pen  was 
ready.  Thus  it  was  that  there  could  come  back  to 
him  in  London,  an  hour  or  two  after  their  luncheon 
with  the  American  pair,  the  sense  of  a  situation  for 
which  Kate  had  not  wholly  prepared  him.  Possibly 
indeed  as  marked  as  this  was  his  recovered  percep 
tion  that  preparations,  of  more  than  one  kind,  had 
been  exactly  what,  both  yesterday  and  to-day,  he  felt 
her  as  having  in  hand.  This  in  fact  now  became  for 
him  so  sharp  an  apprehension  as  to  require  some 

II 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

brushing  away.  He  to  some  extent  shook  it  off,  on 
their  separating  first  from  their  hostesses  and  then 
from  each  other,  by  a  long  and  rather  aimless  walk. 
He  was  to  go  to  the  office  later,  but  he  had  the  next 
two  or  three  hours,  and  he  gave  himself  as  a  pretext 
that  he  had  eaten  much  too  much.  After  Kate  had 
asked  him  to  put  her  into  a  cab — which,  as  an  an 
nounced,  a  resumed  policy  on  her  part,  he  found  him 
self  deprecating — he  stood  awhile  by  a  corner  and 
looked  vaguely  forth  at  his  London.  There  was 
always  doubtless  a  moment  for  the  absentee  recap 
tured — the  moment,  that  of  the  reflux  of  the  first 
emotion — at  which  it  was  beyond  disproof  that  one 
was  back.  His  full  parenthesis  was  closed,  and  he 
was  once  more  but  a  sentence,  of  a  sort,  in  the  gen 
eral  text,  the  text  that,  from  his  momentary  street- 
corner,  showed  as  a  great  grey  page  of  print  that 
somehow  managed  to  be  crowded  without  being 
"  fine."  The  grey,  however,  was  more  or  less  the 
blur  of  a  point  of  view  not  yet  quite  seized  again; 
and  there  would  be  colour  enough  to  come  out.  He 
was  back,  flatly  enough,  but  back  to  possibilities  and 
'prospects,  and  the  ground  he  now  somewhat  sight 
lessly  covered  was  the  act  of  renewed  possession. 

He  walked  northward  without  a  plan,  without 
suspicion,  quite  in  the  direction  his  little  New  York 
friend,  in  her  restless  ramble,  had  taken  a  day  or  two 
before.  He  reached,  like  Milly,  the  Regent's  Park  ; 
and  though  he  moved  further  and  faster  he  finally 
sat  down,  like  Milly,  from  the  force  of  thought.  For 

13 


THE   WINGS  OF   THE  DOVE 

him  too  in  this  position,  be  it  added — and  he  might 
positively  have  occupied  the  same  bench — various 
troubled  fancies  folded  their  wings.  He  had  no 
more  yet  said  what  he  really  wanted  than  Kate  her 
self  had  found  time.  She  should  hear  enough  of 
that  in  a  couple  of  days.  He  had  practically  not 
pressed  her  as  to  what  most  concerned  them ;  it  had 
seemed  so  to  concern  them  during  these  first  hours 
but  to  hold  each  other,  spiritually  speaking,  close. 
This  at  any  rate  was  palpable,  that  there  were  at 
present  more  things  rather  than  fewer  between  them. 
The  explanations  about  the  two  ladies  would  be  part 
of  the  lot ;  these  could  wait  with  all  the  rest.  They 
were  not  meanwhile,  certainly,  what  most  made  him 
roam — the  missing  explanations  were  not.  That 
was  what  she  had  so  often  said  before,  and  always 
with  the  effect  of  suddenly  breaking  off :  "  Now, 
please,  call  me  a  good  cab."  Their  previous  en 
counters,  the  times  when  they  had  reached  in  their 
stroll  the  south  side  of  the  park,  had  had  a  way  of 
winding  up  with  his  special  irrelevance.  It  was, 
effectively,  what  most  divided  them,  for  he  would 
generally,  but  for  her  reasons,  have  been  able  to 
jump  in  with  her.  What  did  she  think  he  wished  to 
do  to  her? — it  was  a  question  he  had  had  occasion 
to  put.  A  small  matter,  however,  doubtless — since 
when  it  came  to  that  they  didn't  depend  on  cabs, 
good  or  bad,  for  the  sense  of  union :  its  importance 
was  less  from  the  particular  loss  than  as  a  kind  of 
irritating  mark  of  her  expertness.  This  expertness, 

13 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE   DOVE 

under  providence,  had  been  great  from  the  first,  so 
far  as  joining  him  was  concerned ;  and  he  was  criti 
cal  only  because  it  had  been  still  greater,  even  from 
the  first  too,  in  respect  to  leaving  him.  He  had  re 
minded  her  of  this,  that  afternoon,  on  the  repetition 
of  her  appeal — had  asked  her  once  more  what  she 
supposed  he  wished  to  do.  He  recalled,  on  his 
bench  in  the  Regent's  Park,  the  freedom  of  fancy, 
funny  and  pretty,  with  which  she  had  answered; 
the  moment  itself,  while  the  usual  hansom  charged 
them,  during  which  he  felt  himself,  disappointed  as 
he  was,  grimacing  back  at  the  superiority  of  her  very 
"  humour/'  in  its  added  grace  of  gaiety,  to  the  cele 
brated  solemn  American.  Their  fresh  appointment 
had  been  at  all  events  by  that  time  made,  and  he 
should  see  what  her  choice  in  respect  to  it — a  sur 
prise  as  well  as  a  relief — would  do  toward  really 
simplifying.  It  meant  either  new  help  or  new  hin 
drance,  though  it  took  them  at  least  out  of  the 
streets.  And  her  naming  this  privilege  had  natur 
ally  made  him  ask  if  Mrs.  Lowder  knew  of  his  re 
turn. 

"  Not  from  me/'  Kate  had  replied.  "  But  I  shall 
speak  to  her  now."  And  she  had  argued,  as  with 
rather  a  quick,  fresh  view,  that  it  would  now  be  quite 
easy.  "  We've  behaved  for  months  so  properly  that 
I've  margin  surely  for  my  mention  of  you.  You'll 
come  to  see  her,  and  she'll  leave  you  with  me ;  she'll 
show  her  good-nature,  and  her  want  of  betrayed 
fear,  in  that.  With  her,  you  know,  you've  never 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

broken,  quite  the  contrary,  and  she  likes  you  as  much 
as  ever.  We're  leaving  town;  it  will  be  the  end, 
just  now ;  therefore  it's  nothing  to  ask.  I'll  ask  to 
night,"  Kate  had  wound  up,  "  and  if  you'll  leave  it 
to  me — my  cleverness,  I  assure  you,  has  grown  in 
fernal — I'll  make  it  all  right." 

He  had  of  course  thus  left  it  to  her  and  he  was 
wondering  more  about  it  now  than  he  had  wondered 
there  in  Brook  Street.  He  repeated  to  himself  that 
if  it  wasn't  in  the  line  of  triumph  it  was  in  the  line 
of  muddle.  This  indeed,  no  doubt,  was  as  a  part 
of  his  wonder  for  still  other  questions.  Kate  had 
really  got  off  without  meeting  his  little  challenge 
about  the  terms  of  their  intercourse  with  her  dear 
Milly.  Her  dear  Milly,  it  was  sensible,  was  some 
how  in  the  picture.  Her  dear  Milly,  popping  up  in 
his  absence,  occupied — he  couldn't  have  said  quite 
why  he  felt  it — more  of  the  foreground  than  one 
would  have  expected  her  in  advance  to  find  clear. 
She  took  up  room,  and  it  was  almost  as  if  room  had 
been  made  for  her.  Kate  had  appeared  to  take  for 
granted  he  would  know  why  it  had  been  made ;  but 
that  was  just  the  point.  It  was  a  foreground  in 
which  he  himself,  in  which  his  connection  with  Kate, 
scarce  enjoyed  a  space  to  turn  round.  But  Miss 
Theale  was  perhaps  at  the  present  juncture  a  possi 
bility  of  the  same  sort  as  the  softened,  if  not  the 
squared,  Aunt  Maud.  It  might  be  true  of  her  also 
that  if  she  weren't  a  bore  she'd  be  a  convenience.  It 
rolled  over  him  of  a  sudden,  after  he  had  resumed 

'5 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

his  walk,  that  this  might  easily  be  what  Kate  had 
meant.  The  charming  girl  adored  her — Densher 
had  for  himself  made  out  that — and  would  protect, 
would  lend  a  hand,  to  their  interviews.  These  might 
take  place  in  other  words,  on  her  premises,  which 
would  remove  them  still  better  from  the  streets. 
That  was  an  explanation  which  did  hang  together. 
It  was  impaired  a  little,  of  a  truth,  by  this  fact  that 
their  next  encounter  was  rather  markedly  not  to  de 
pend  upon  her.  Yet  this  fact  in  turn  would  be  ac 
counted  for  by  the  need  of  more  preliminaries.  One 
of  the  things  he  conceivably  should  gain  on  Thurs 
day  at  Lancaster  Gate  would  be  a  further  view  of 
that  propriety. 


16 


XVIII 

IT  was  extraordinary  enough  that  he  should  actu 
ally  be  rinding  himself,  when  Thursday  arrived,  none 
so  wide  of  the  mark.  Kate  had  not  come  all  the 
way  to  this  for  him,  but  she  had  come  to  a  good  deal 
by  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  What  she  had 
begun  with  was  her  surprise  at  her  appearing  to  have 
left  him  on  Tuesday  anything  more  to  understand. 
The  parts,  as  he  now  saw,  under  her  hand,  did  fall 
more  or  less  together,  and  it  was  not  even  as  if  she 
had  spent  the  interval  in  twisting  and  fitting  them. 
She  was  bright  and  handsome,  not  fagged  and  worn, 
with  the  general  clearness;  for  it  certainly  stuck  out 
enough  that  if  the  American  ladies  themselves  were 
not  to  be  squared,  which  was  absurd,  they  fairly 
imposed  the  necessity  of  trying  Aunt  Maud  again. 
One  couldn't  say  'to  them,  kind  as  she  had  been  to 
them :  "  We'll  meet,  please,  whenever  you'll  let  us, 
at  your  house;  but  we  count  on  you  to  help  us  to 
keep  it  secret."  They  must  in  other  terms  inevitably 
speak  to  Aunt  Maud — it  would  be  of  the  last  awk 
wardness  to  ask  them  not  to :  Kate  had  embraced  all 
this  in  her  choice  of  speaking  first.  What  Kate  em 
braced  altogether  was  indeed  wonderful  to-day  to 

Densher,  though  he  perhaps  struck  himself  rather  as 
VOL.  II.— 2 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

getting  it  out  of  her  piece  by  piece  than  as  receiving 
it  in  a  steady  light.  He  had  always  felt,  however, 
that  the  more  he  asked  of  her  the  more  he  found 
her  prepared,  as  he  imaged  it,  to  hand  out.  He  had 
said  to  her  more  than  once  even  before  his  absence : 
"  You  keep  the  key  of  the  cupboard,  and  I  foresee 
that  when  we're  married  you'll  dole  me  out  my  sugar 
by  lumps."  She  had  replied  that  she  rejoiced  in  his 
assumption  that  sugar  .would  be  his  diet,  and  the 
domestic  arrangement  so  prefigured  might  have 
seemed  already  to  prevail.  The  supply  from  the 
cupboard  at  this  hour  wras  doubtless,  of  a  truth,  not 
altogether  cloyingly  sweet ;  but  it  met,  in  a  manner, 
his  immediate  requirements.  If  her  explanations, 
at  any  rate,  prompted  questions,  the  questions  no 
more  exhausted  them  than  they  exhausted  her  pa 
tience.  And  they  were  naturally,  of  the  series,  the 
simpler;  as  for  instance  in  his  taking  it  from  her  that 
Miss  Theale  then  could  do  nothing  for  them.  He 
frankly  brought  out  what  he  had  ventured  to  fancy. 
"  If  we  can't  meet  here  and  we've  really  exhausted 
the  charms  of  the  open  air  and  the  crowd,  some  such 
little  raft  in  the  wreck,  some  occasional  opportunity 
like  that  of  Tuesday,  has  been  present  to  me  these 
two  days  as  better  than  nothing.  But  if  our  friends 
are  so  accountable  to  this  house  of  course  there's  no 
more  to  be  said.  And  it's  one  more  nail,  thank  God, 
in  the  coffin  of  our  odious  delay."  He  was  but  too 
glad  without  more  ado  to  point  the  moral.  "  Now 
I  hope  you  see  we  can't  work  it  anyhow/' 

18 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

If  she  laughed  for  this — and  her  spirits  seemed 
really  high — it  was  because  of  the  opportunity  that, 
at  the  hotel,  he  had  most  shown  himself  as  enjoying. 
"  Your  idea's  beautiful  when  one  remembers  that 
you  hadn't  a  word  except  for  Milly."  But  she  was 
as  beautifully  good-humoured.  "  You  might  of 
course  get  used  to  her — you  will.  You're  quite  right 
— so  long  as  they're  with  us  or  near  us."  And  she 
put  it,  lucidly,  that  the  dear  things  couldn't  help, 
simply  as  charming  friends,  giving  them  a  lift. 
"  They'll  speak  to  Aunt  Maud,  but  they  won't  shut 
their  doors  to  us :  that  would  be  another  matter.  A 
friend  always  helps — and  she's  a  friend."  She  had 
left  Mrs.  Stringham  by  this  time  out  of  the  question; 
she  had  reduced  it  to  Milly.  "  Besides,  she  particu 
larly  likes  us.  She  particularly  likes  you.  I  say, 
old  boy,  make  something  of  that."  He  felt  her 
dodging  the  ultimatum  he  had  just  made  sharp,  his 
definite  reminder  of  how  little,  at  the  best,  they  could 
work  it;  but  there  were  certain  of  his  remarks — 
those  mostly  of  the  sharper  penetration — that  it  had 
been  quite  her  practice  from  the  first  not  formally, 
not  reverently  to  notice.  She  showed  the  effect  of 
them  in  ways  less  trite.  This  was  what  happened 
now :  he  didn't  think  in  truth  that  she  wasn't  really 
minding.  She  took  him  up,  none  the  less,  on  a 
minor  question.  "  You  say  we  can't  meet  here,  but 
you  see  it's  just  what  we  do.  What  could  be  more 
lovely  than  this  ?  " 

It  wasn't  to  torment  him — that  again  he  didn't 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

believe;  but  he  had  to  come  to  the  house  in  some 
discomfort,  so  that  he  frowned  a  little  at  her  calling 
it  thus  a  luxury.  Wasn't  there  an  element  in  it  of 
coming  back  into  bondage  ?  The  bondage  might  be 
veiled  and  varnished,  but  he  knew  in  his  bones  how 
little  the  very  highest  privileges  of  Lancaster  Gate 
could  ever  be  a  sign  of  their  freedom.  They  were 
upstairs,  in  one  of  the  smaller  apartments  of  state, 
a  room  arranged  as  a  boudoir,  but  visibly  unused- — 
it  defied  familiarity — and  furnished  in  the  ugliest  of 
blues.  He  had  immediately  looked  with  interest  at 
the  closed  doors,  and  Kate  had  met  his  interest  with 
the  assurance  that  it  was  all  right,  that  Aunt  Maud 
did  them  justice — so  far,  that  was,  as  this  particular 
time  was  concerned;  that  they  should  be  alone  and 
have  nothing  to  fear.  But  the  fresh  allusion  to  this 
that  he  had  drawn  from  her  acted  on  him  now  more 
directly,  brought  him  closer  still  to  the  question. 
They  were  alone — it  w as  all  right :  he  took  in  anew 
the  shut  doors  and  the  permitted  privacy,  the  solid 
stillness  of  the  great  house.  They  connected  them 
selves  on  the  spot  with  something  made  doubly  vivid 
in  him  by  the  whole  present  play  of  her  charming 
strong  will.  What  it  amounted  to  was  that  he 
couldn't  have  her — hanged  if  he  could! — evasive. 
He  couldn't  and  he  wouldn't — wouldn't  have  her 
elusive.  He  didn't  want  her  deeper  than  himself, 
fine  as  it  might  be  as  wit  or  as  character;  he  wanted 
to  keep  her  where  their  communications  would  be 
straight  and  easy  and  their  intercourse  independent. 

20 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

The  effect  of  this  was  to  make  him  say  in  a  moment : 
"  Will  you  take  me  just  as  I  am?  " 

She  turned  a  little  pale  for  the  tone  of  truth  in  it 
—  which  qualified  to  his  sense  delightfully  the 
strength  of  her  will;  and  the  pleasure  he  found  in 
this  was  not  the  less  for  her  breaking  out  after  an 
instant  into  a  strain  that  stirred  him  more  than  any 
she  has  ever  used  with  him.  "  Ah,  do  let  me  try 
myself !  I  assure  you  I  see  my  way — so  don't  spoil 
it :  wait  for  me  and  give  me  time.  Dear  man," 
Kate  said,  "  only  believe  in  me,  and  it  will  be  beau 
tiful." 

He  hadn't  come  back  to  hear  her  talk  of  his  be 
lieving  in  her  as  if  he  didn't;  but  he  had  come  back 
— and  it  all  was  upon  him  now — to  seize  her  with  a 
sudden  intensity  that  her  manner  of  pleading  with 
him  had  made,  as  happily  appeared,  irresistible.  He 
laid  strong  hands  upon  her  to  say,  almost  in  anger, 
"  Do  you  love  me,  love  me,  love  me  ?  "  and  she  closed 
her  eyes  as  with  the  sense  that  he  might  strike  her 
but  that  she  could  gratefully  take  it.  Her  surrender 
was  her  response,  her  response  her  surrender ;  and, 
though  scarce  hearing  what  she  said,  he  so  profited 
by  these  things  that  it  could  for  the  time  be  solid  to 
him  that  he  was  keeping  her.  The  long  embrace  in 
which  they  held  each  other  was  the  rout  of  evasion, 
and  he  took  from  it  the  certitude  that  what  she  had 
from  him  was  real.  It  was  stronger  than  an  uttered 
vow,  and  the  name  he  was  to  give  it  in  afterthought 
was  that  she  had  been  sublimely  sincere.  That  was 

21 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

• 

all  he  asked — sincerity  making  a  basis  that  would 
bear  almost  anything.  This  settled  so  much,  and 
settled  it  so  thoroughly,  that  there  was  nothing  left 
to  ask  her  to  swear  to.  Oaths  and  vows  apart,  now 
they  could  talk.  It  seemed  in  fact  only  now  that 
their  questions  were  put  on  the  table.  He  had  taken 
up  more  expressly  at  the  end  of  five  minutes  her  plea 
for  her  own  plan,  and  it  was  marked  that  the  differ 
ence  made  by  the  passage  just  enacted  was  a  dif 
ference  in  favour  of  her  choice  of  means.  They  had 
somehow  suddenly  become  a  detail — her  province 
and  her  care ;  it  had  grown  more  consistently  vivid 
that  her  intelligence  was  one  with  her  passion.  "  I 
certainly  don't  want,"  he  said — and  he  could  say  it 
with  a  smile  of  indulgence — "  to  be  all  the  while 
bringing  it  up  that  I  don't  trust  you." 

"  I  should  hope  not !  What  do  you  think  I  want 
to  do?" 

He  had  really  at  this  to  make  out  a  little  what  he 
thought,  and  the  first  thing  that  put  itself  in  evidence 
was  of  course  the  oddity,  after  all,  of  their  game,  to 
which  he  could  but  frankly  allude.  "  We're  doing, 
at  the  best,  in  trying  to  temporise  in  so  special  a  way, 
a  thing  most  people  would  call  us  fools  for."  But 
his  visit  passed,  all  the  same,  without  his  again  at 
tempting  to  make  "just  as  he  was  "  serve.  He  had  no 
more  money  just  as  he  was  than  he  had  had  just  as 
he  had  been,  or  than  he  would  have,  probably,  when 
it  came  to  that,  just  as  he  always  would  be ;  whereas 
she,  on  her  side,  in  comparison  with  her  state  of  some 

22 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

months  before,  had  measurably  more  to  relinquish. 
He  easily  saw  how  their  meeting  at  Lancaster  Gate 
gave  more  of  an  accent  to  that  quantity  than  their 
meeting  at  stations  or  in  parks ;  and  yet,  on  the  other 
hand,  he  couldn't  urge  this  against  it.  If  Mrs.  Low- 
der  was  indifferent  her  indifference  added  in  a  man 
ner  to  what  Kate's  taking  him  as  he  was  would  call 
on  her  to  sacrifice.  Such,  in  fine,  was  her  art  with  \ 
him  that  she  seemed  to  put  the  question  of  their  still 
waiting  into  quite  other  terms  than  the  terms  of  ugly 
blue,  of  florid  Sevres,  of  complicated  brass,  in  which 
their  boudoir  expressed  it.  She  said  almost  all  in 
fact  in  saying,  in  respect  to  Aunt  Maud,  as  to  whom 
he  had  once  more  pressed  her,  that  when  he  should 
see  her,  as  must  inevitably  soon  happen,  he  would 
understand.  "  Do  you  mean,"  he  asked  on  this, 
"  that  there's  any  definite  sign  of  her  coming  round? 
I'm  not  talking,"  he  explained,  "  of  mere  hypocrisies 
in  her,  or  mere  brave  duplicities.  Remember,  after 
all,  that  supremely  clever  as  we  are,  and  as  strong 
a  team,  I  admit,  as  there  is  going — remember  that 
she  can  play  with  us  quite  as  much  as  we  play  with 
her." 

"  She  doesn't  want  to  play  with  me,  my  dear," 
Kate  lucidly  replied ;  "  she  doesn't  want  to  make  me 
suffer  a  bit  more  than  she  need.  She  cares  for  me 
too  much,  and  everything  she  does,  or  doesn't  do, 
has  a  value.  This  has  a  value — her  being  as  she  has 
been  about  to-day.  I  believe  she's  in  her  own  room, 
where  she's  keeping  strictly  to  herself  while  you're 

23 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

here  with  me.     But  that  isn't  '  playing ' — not  a 
bit. " 

"  What  is  it  then,"  the  young  man  inquired — 
"  from  the  moment  it  isn't  her  blessing  and  a 
cheque?  " 

Kate  was  complete.  "  It's  simply  her  absence  of 
smallness.  There  is  something  in  her  above  trifles. 
She  generally  trusts  us ;  she  doesn't  propose  to  hunt 
us  into  corners;  and  if  we  frankly  ask  a  thing — 
why,"  said  Kate,  "  she  shrugs,  but  she  lets  it  go. 
She  has  really  but  one  fault — she's  indifferent,  on 
such  ground  as  she  has  taken  about  us,  to  details. 
However,"  the  girl  cheerfully  went  on,  "  it  isn't  in 
detail  we  fight  her." 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  Densher  said  after  a  moment's 
thought  of  this,  "  that  it's  in  detail  we  deceive  her  " 
— a  speech  that,  as  soon  as  he  had  uttered  it,  applied 
itself  for  him,  as  also  visibly  for  his  companion,  to 
the  circumstances  of  their  recent  embrace. 

Any  confusion  attaching  to  it,  however,  dropped 
from  Kate,  whom,  as  he  could  see  with  sacred  joy, 
it  must  take  more  than  that  to  make  compunctious. 
"  I  don't  say  we  can  do  it  again.  I  mean,"  she  ex 
plained,  "  meet  here." 

Densher  indeed  had  been  wondering  where  they 
could  do  it  again.  If  Lancaster  Gate  was  so  limited 
that  issue  reappeared.  "  I  mayn't  come  back  at 
all?" 

"  Certainly — to  see  her.  It's  she,  really,"  his 
companion  smiled,  "  who's  in  love  with  you." 

24 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

But  it  made  him — a  trifle  more  grave — look  at  her 
a  moment.  "  Don't  make  out,  you  know,  that  every 
one's  in  love  with  me." 

She  hesitated.     "  I  don't  say  everyone." 

"You  said  just  now  Miss  Theale." 

"  I  said  she  liked  you — yes." 

"  Well,  it  comes  to  the  same  thing."  With  which, 
however,  he  pursued.  "Of  course,  I  ought  to  thank 
Mrs.  Lowder  in  person.  I  mean  for  this — as  from 
myself." 

"  Ah  but,  you  know,  not  too  much !  "  She  had 
an  ironic  gaiety  for  the  implications  of  his  "  this," 
besides  wishing  to  insist  on  a  general  prudence. 
"  She'll  wonder  what  you're  thanking  her  for !  " 

Densher  did  justice  to  both  considerations. 
"  Yes,  I  can't  very  well  tell  her  all." 

It  was  perhaps  because  he  said  it  so  gravely  that 
Kate  was  again  in  a  manner  amused.  Yet  she  gave 
out  light.  "  You  can't  very  well  '  tell '  her  any 
thing,  and  that  doesn't  matter.  Only  be  nice  to  her. 
Please  her ;  make  her  see  how  clever  you  are — only 
without  letting  her  see  that  you're  trying.  If  you're 
charming  to  her  you've  nothing  else  to  do." 

But  she  oversimplified  too.  "  I  can  be  *  charm 
ing  '  to  her,  so  far  as  I  see,  only  by  letting  her  sup 
pose  I  give  you  up — which  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  do! 
It  is"  he  said  with  feeling,  "  a  game." 

"  Of  course  it's  a  game.  But  she'll  never  suppose 
you  give  me  up — or  I  give  you — if  you  keep  remind 
ing  her  how  you  enjoy  our  interviews." 

25 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

''  Then  if  she  has  to  see  us  as  obstinate  and  con 
stant,"  Densher  asked,  "  what  good  does  it  do?  " 

Kate  was  for  a  moment  checked.  "  What  good 
does  what ?  " 

"  Does  my  pleasing  her — does  anything.  I  cant," 
he  impatiently  declared,  "  please  her." 

Kate  looked  at  him  hard  again,  disappointed  at 
his  want  of  consistency;  but  it  appeared  to  deter 
mine  in  her  something  better  than  a  mere  complaint. 
"Then  /  can!  Leave  it  to  me."  With  which  she 
came  to  him  under  the  compulsion,  again,  that  had 
united  them  shortly  before,  and  took  hold  of  him  in 
her  urgency  to  the  same  tender  purpose.  It  was 
her  form  of  entreaty  renewed  and  repeated,  which 
made  after  all,  as  he  met  it,  their  great  fact  clear. 
And  it  somehow  clarified  all  things  so  to  possess  each 
other.  The  effect  of  it  was  that,  once  more,  on  these 
terms,  he  could  only  be  generous.  He  had  so  on 
the  spot  then  left  everything  to  her  that  she  came 
back  in  the  course  of  a  few  moments  to  one  of  her 
previous — and  as  positively  seemed — her  most  prec 
ious  ideas.  "  You  accused  me  just  now  of  saying 
that  Milly's  in  love  v/ith  you.  Well,  if  you  come 
to  that,  I  do  say  it.  So  there  you  are.  That's  the 
good  she'll  do  us.  It  makes  a  basis  for  her  seeing 
you — so  that  she'll  help  us  to  go  on." 

Densher  stared  —  she  was  wondrous  all  round. 
"  And  what  sort  of  a  basis  does  it  make  for  my  see 
ing  her?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind!  "  Kate  smiled. 
26 


THE    WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

"  Don't  mind  my  leading  her  on  ?  " 

She  put  it  differently.  "  Don't  mind  her  leading 
you." 

"  Well,  she  won't — so  it's  nothing  not  to  mind. 
But  how  can  that  '  help,'  "  he  pursued,  "  with  what 
she  knows?  " 

"  What  she  knows?     That  needn't  prevent." 

He  wrondered.     "  Prevent  her  loving  us?  " 

"  Prevent  her  helping  you.  She's  like  that,"  Kate 
Croy  explained. 

It  took  indeed  some  understanding.  "  Making 
nothing  of  the  fact  that  I  love  another?  " 

"  Making  everything,"  said  Kate.  "  To  console 
you." 

"But  for  what?" 

"  For  not  getting  your  other." 

He  continued  to  stare.  "  But  how  does  she 
know ?" 

"  That  you  won't  get  her  ?  She  doesn't ;  but  on 
the  other  hand  she  doesn't  know  you  will.  Mean 
while  she  sees  you  baffled,  for  she  knows  of  Aunt 
Maud's  stand.  That  " — Kate  was  lucid — "  gives 
her  the  chance  to  be  nice  to  you." 

"  And  what  does  it  give  me,"  the  young  man  none 
the  less  rationally  asked,  "the  chance  to  be?  A 
brute  of  a  humbug  to  her?  " 

Kate  so  possessed  her  facts,  as  it  were,  that  she 
smiled  at  his  violence.  "  You'll  extraordinarily  like 
her.  She's  exquisite.  And  there  are  reasons.  I 
mean  others." 

27 


THE   WINGS  OF   THE  DOVE 

"What  others?" 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  another  time.  Those  I  give 
you,"  the  girl  added,  "  are  enough  to  go  on 
with." 

"To  go  on  to  what?" 

"  Why,  to  seeing  her  again — say  as  soon  as  you 
can:  which,  moreover,  on  all  grounds,  is  no  more 
than  decent  of  you." 

He  of  course  took  in  her  reference,  and  he  had 
fully  in  mind  what  had  passed  between  them  in  New 
York.  It  had  been  no  great  quantity,  but  it  had 
made  distinctly  at  the  time  for  his  pleasure ;  so  that 
anything  in  the  nature  of  an  appeal  in  the  name  of  it 
could  have  a  slight  kindling  consequence.  "  Oh,  I 
shall  naturally  call  again  without  delay.  Yes," 
said  Densher,  "  her  being  in  love  with  me  is  non 
sense  ;  but  I  must,  quite  independently  of  that,  make 
every  acknowledgment  of  favours  received." 

It  appeared  practically  all  Kate  asked.  "  Then 
you  see.  I  shall  meet  you  there." 

"  I  don't  quite  see,"  he  presently  returned,  "  why 
she  should  wish  to  receive  yon  for  it." 

"  She  receives  me  for  myself — that  is  for  her  self. 
She  thinks  no  end  of  me.  That  I  should  have  to 
drum  it  into  you !  " 

Yet  still  he  didn't  take  it.  "  Then  I  confess  she's 
beyond  me." 

Well,  Kate  could  but  leave  it  as  she  saw  it.  "  She 
regards  me  as  already — in  these  few  weeks — her 
dearest  friend.  It's  quite  separate.  We're  in,  she 

23 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

and  I,  ever  so  deep."  And  it  was  to  confirm  this 
that,  as  if  it  had  flashed  upon  her  that  he  was  some 
where  at  sea,  she  threw  out  at  last  her  own  real  light. 
"  She  doesn't,  of  course,  know  I  care  for  you.  She 
thinks  I  care  so  little  that  it's  not  worth  speaking  of." 
That  he  had  been  somewhere  at  sea  these  remarks 
made  quickly  clear,  and  Kate  hailed  the  effect  with 
surprise.  "  Have  you  been  supposing  that  she  does 
know ?" 

"  About  our  situation?  Certainly,  if  you're  such 
friends  as  you  show  me — and  if  you  haven't  other 
wise  represented  it  to  her."  She  uttered  at  this  such 
a  sound  of  impatience  that  he  stood  artlessly  vague. 
"  You  have  denied  it  to  her?  " 

She  threw  up  her  arms  at  his  being  so  backward. 
"  '  Denied  it  ?  '  My  dear  man,  we've  never  spoken 
of  you." 

"  Never,  never?  " 

"  Strange  as  it  may  appear  to  your  glory — 
never." 

He  couldn't  piece  it  together.  "  But  won't  Mrs. 
Lowder  have  spoken  ?  " 

"  Very  probably.     But  of  you.     Not  of  me." 

This  struck  him  as  obscure.  "  How  does  she 
know  me  but  as  part  and  parcel  of  you  ?  " 

."  Plow  ?  "  Kate  triumphantly  asked.  "  Why,  ex 
actly  to  make  nothing  of  it,  to  have  nothing  to  do 
with  it,  to  stick  consistently  to  her  line  about  it. 
Aunt  Maud's  line  is  to  keep  all  reality  out  of  our 
relation — that  is  out  of  my  being  in  danger  from 

29 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

you — by  not  having  so  much  as  suspected  or  heard 
of  it.  She'll  get  rid  of  it,  as  she  believes,  by  ignor 
ing  it  and  sinking  it — if  she  only  does  so  hard 
enough.  Therefore  she  in  her  manner  '  denies  '  it, 
if  you  will.  That's  how  she  knows  you  otherwise 
than  as  part  and  parcel  of  me.  She  won't  for  a  mo 
ment  have  allowed  either  to  Mrs.  Stringham  or  to 
Milly  that  I've  in  any  way,  as  they  say,  distinguished 
you." 

"  And  you  don't  suppose,"  said  Densher,  "  that 
they  must  have  made  it  out  for  themselves  ?  " 

"  No,  my  dear,  I  don't ;  not  even,"  Kate  declared, 
"  after  Milly's  so  funnily  bumping  against  us  on 
Tuesday." 

"  She  doesn't  see  from  that ?" 

"  That  you're,  so  to  speak,  mad  about  me.  Yes, 
she  sees,  no  doubt,  that  you  regard  me  with  a  com 
placent  eye — for  you  show  it,  I  think,  always  too 
much.  But  nothing  beyond  that.  /  don't  show  it 
too  much ;  I  don't  perhaps — to  please  you  completely 
where  others  are  concerned — show  it  enough." 

"  Can  you  show  it  or  not  as  you  like  ?  "  Densher 
demanded. 

It  pulled  her  up  a  little,  but  she  came  out  resplen 
dent.  "  Not  where  you  are  concerned.  Beyond  see 
ing  that  you're  rather  gone,"  she  went  on,  "  Milly 
only  sees  that  I'm  decently  good  to  you." 

"  Very  good  indeed  she  must  think  it !  " 

"  Very  good  indeed  then.  She  easily  sees  me," 
Kate  smiled,  "  as  very  good  indeed." 

30 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

The  young  man  brooded.  "  But  in  a  sense  to  take 
some  explaining." 

"  Then  I  explain."  She  was  really  fine;  it  came 
back  to  her  essential  plea  for  her  freedom  of  action 
and  his  beauty  of  trust.  "  I  mean,"  she  added,  "  I 
will  explain." 

"And  what  will /do?" 

"  Recognise  the  difference  it  will  make  if  she 
thinks."  But  here  in  truth  Kate  faltered.  It  was 
his  silence  alone  that,  for  the  moment,  took  up  her 
apparent  meaning;  and  before  he  again  spoke  she 
had  returned  to  remembrance  and  prudence.  They 
were  now  not  to  forget  that,  Aunt  Maud's  liberality 
having  put  them  on  their  honour,  they  mustn't  spoil 
their  case  by  abusing  it.  He  must  leave  her  in  time ; 
they  should  probably  find  it  would  help  them.  But 
she  came  back  to  Milly  too.  "  Mind  you  go  to  see 
her." 

Densher  still,  however,  took  up  nothing  of  this. 
'  Then  I  may  come  again?  " 

"  For  Aunt  Maud — as  much  as  you  like.  But  we 
can't  again,"  said  Kate,  "  play  her  this  trick.  I  can't 
see  you  here  alone." 

"Then  where?" 

"  Go  to  see  Milly,"  she,  for  all  satisfaction,  re 
peated. 

"  And  what  good  will  that  do  me?  " 

"  Try  it,  and  you'll  see." 

"  You  mean  you'll  manage  to  be  there  ?  "  Densher 
asked.  "  Say  you  are,  how  will  that  give  us  pri 
vacy  ?  " 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

:<  Try  it — you'll  see,"  the  girl  once  more  returned. 
"  We  must  manage  as  we  can." 

"  That's  precisely  what  /  feel.  It  strikes  me  we 
might  manage  better."  His  idea  of  this  was  a  thing 
that  made  him  for  an  instant  hesitate;  yet  he 
brought  it  out  with  conviction.  "  Why  won't  you 
come  to  me?  " 

It  was  a  question  her  troubled  eyes  seemed  to  tell 
him  that  he  was  scarce  generous  in  expecting  her 
definitely  to  answer,  and  in  looking  to  him  to  wait 
at  least  she  appealed  to  something  that  she  presently 
made  him  feel  as  his  pity.  It  was  on  that  special 
shade  of  tenderness  that  he  thus  found  himself 
thrown  back;  and  while  he  asked  of  his  spirit  and  of 
his  flesh  just  what  concession  they  could  arrange  she 
pressed  him  yet  again  on  the  subject  of  her  singular 
remedy  for  their  embarrassment.  It  might  have 
been  irritating  had  she  ever  struck  him  as  having  in 
her  mind  a  stupid  corner.  "  You'll  see,"  she  said, 
"  the  difference  it  will  make." 

Well,  since  she  was  not  stupid  she  was  intelligent ; 
it  was  he  that  was  stupid — the  proof  of  which  was 
that  he  would  do  what  she  liked.  But  he  made  a  last 
effort  to  understand,  her  allusion  to  the  "  difference  " 
bringing  him  round  to  it.  He  indeed  caught  at 
something  subtle  but  strong  even  as  he  spoke.  "  Is 
what  you  meant  a  moment  ago  that  the  difference 
will  be  in  her  being  made  to  believe  you  hate  me?  " 

Kate,  however,  had  simply,  for  this  gross  way  of 
putting  it,  one  of  her  more  marked  shows  of  impa- 

32 


THE   WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

tience;  with  which  in  fact  she  sharply  closed  their 
discussion.  He  opened  the  door  on  a  sign  from  her, 
and  she  accompanied  him  to  the  top  of  the  stairs 
with  an  air  of  having  so  put  their  possibilities  before 
him  that  questions  were  idle  and  doubts  perverse. 
"  I  verily  believe  I  shall  hate  you  if  you  spoil  for  me 
the  beauty  of  what  I  see !  " 


VOL.  tt-3 


XIX 

HE  was  really,  notwithstanding,  to  hear  more  from 
her  of  what  she  saw ;  and  the  very  next  occasion  had 
for  him  still  other  surprises  than  that.  He  received 
from  Mrs.  Lowder  on  the  morning  after  his  visit  to 
Kate  the  telegraphic  expression  of  a  hope  that  he 
might  be  free  to  dine  with  them  that  evening;  and 
his  freedom  affected  him  as  fortunate  even  though 
in  some  degree  qualified  by  her  missive.  "  Expect 
ing  American  friends,  whom  I'm  so  glad  to  find  you 
know !  "  His  knowledge  of  American  friends  was 
clearly  an  accident  of  which  he  was  to  taste  the  fruit 
to  the  last  bitterness.  This  apprehension,  however, 
we  hasten  to  add,  enjoyed  for  him,  in  the  immediate 
event,  a  certain  merciful  shrinkage;  the  immediate 
event  being  that,  at  Lancaster  Gate,  five  minutes 
after  his  due  arrival,  prescribed  him  for  eight-thirty, 
Mrs.  Stringham  came  in  alone.  The  long  daylight, 
the  postponed  lamps,  the  habit  of  the  hour,  made  din 
ners  late  and  guests  still  later;  so  that,  punctual  as 
he  was,  he  had  found  Mrs.  Lowder  alone,  with  Kate 
herself  not  yet  in  the  field.  He  had  thus  had  with 
her  several  bewildering  moments — bewildering  by 
reason,  fairly,  of  their  tacit  invitation  to  him  to  be 
supernaturally  simple.  This  was  exactly,  goodness 
knew,  what  he  wanted  to  be ;  but  he  had  never  had 

34 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

it  so  largely  and  freely — so  supernaturally  simply, 
for  that  matter — imputed  to  him  as  of  easy  achieve 
ment.  It  was  a  particular  in  which  Aunt  Maud  ap 
peared  to  offer  herself  as  an  example,  appeared  to 
say  quite  agreeably :  "  What  1  want  of  you,  don't 
you  see?  is  to  be  just  exactly  as  /  am."  The  quan 
tity  of  the  article  required  was  what  might  especially 
have  caused  him  to  stagger — he  liked  so,  in  general, 
the  quantities  in  which  Mrs.  Lowder  dealt.  He 
would  have  liked  as  well  to  ask  her  how  feasible  she 
supposed  it  for  a  poor  young  man  to  resemble  her  at 
any  point;  but  he  had  after  all  soon  enough  per 
ceived  that  he  was  doing  as  she  wished  by  letting 
his  wonder  show  just  a  little  as  silly.  He  was  con 
scious  moreover  of  a  small  strange  dread  of  the  re 
sults  of  discussion  with  her — strange,  truly,  because 
it  was  her  good-nature,  not  her  asperity,  that  he 
feared.  Asperity  might  have  made  him  angry — in 
which  there  was  always  a  comfort ;  good-nature,  in 
his  conditions,  had  a  tendency  to  make  him  ashamed 
— which  Aunt  Maud  indeed,  wonderfully,  liking  him 
for  himself,  quite  struck  him  as  having  guessed.  To 
spare  him  therefore  she  also  avoided  discussion ;  she 
kept  him  down  by  refusing  to  quarrel  with  him. 
This  was  what  she  now  proposed  to  him  to  enjoy, 
and  his  secret  discomfort  was  his  sense  that  on  the 
whole  it  was  what  would  best  suit  him.  Being  kept 
down  was  a  bore,  but  his  great  dread,  verily,  was  of 
being  ashamed,  which  was  a  thing  distinct ;  and  it 
mattered  but  little  that  he  was  ashamed  of  that  too. 

35 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

It  was  of  the  essence  of  his  position  that  in  such 
a  house  as  this  the  tables  could  always  be  turned  on 
him.  "  What  do  you  offer,  what  do  you  offer  ?  " — 
the  place,  however  muffled  in  convenience  and  de 
corum,  constantly  hummed  for  him  with  that  thick 
irony.  The  irony  was  a  renewed  reference  to  obvi 
ous  bribes,  and  he  had  already  seen  how  little  aid 
came  to  him  from  denouncing  the  bribes  as  ugly  in 
form.  That  was  what  the  precious  metals — they 
alone — could  afford  to  be;  it  was  vain  enough  for 
him  accordingly  to  try  to  impart  a  gloss  to  his  own 
comparative  brummagem.  The  humiliation  of  this 
impotence  was  precisely  what  Aunt  Maud  sought  to 
mitigate  for  him  by  keeping  him  down ;  and  as  her 
effort  to  that  end  had  doubtless  never  yet  been  so 
visible  he  had  probably  never  felt  so  definitely  placed 
in  the  world  as  while  he  waited  with  her  for  her  half- 
dozen  other  guests.  She  welcomed  him  genially 
back  from  the  States,  as  to  his  view  of  which  her 
few  questions,  though  not  coherent,  were  compre 
hensive,  and  he  had  the  amusement  of  seeing  in  her, 
as  through  a  clear  glass,  the  outbreak  of  a  plan  and 
the  sudden  consciousness  of  a  curiosity.  She  be 
came  aware  of  America,  under  his  eyes,  as  a  possible 
scene  for  social  operations;  the  idea  of  a  visit  to 
the  wonderful  country  had  clearly  but  just  occurred 
to  her,  yet  she  was  talking  of  it,  at  the  end  of  a  min 
ute,  as  her  favourite  dream.  He  didn't  believe  in 
it,  but  he  pretended  to;  this  helped  her  as  well  as 
anything  else  to  treat  him  as  a  harmless  young  man. 

36 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

She  was  so  engaged,  with  the  further  aid  of  a  com 
plete  absence  of  allusions,  when  the  highest  effect 
was  given  her  method  by  the  beautiful  entrance  of 
Kate.  The  method  therefore  received  support  all 
round,  for  no  young  man  could  have  been  more 
harmless  than  the  person  to  the  relief  of  whose  shy 
ness  her  niece  ostensibly  came.  The  ostensible,  in 
Kate,  struck  him  altogether,  on  this  occasion,  as  pro 
digious;  while  scarcely  less  prodigious,  for  that 
matter,  was  his  own  reading,  on  the  spot,  of  the  rela 
tion  between  his  companions — a  relation  lighted  for 
him  by  the  straight  look,  not  exactly  loving  nor  lin 
gering,  yet  searching  and  soft,  that,  on  the  part  of 
her  aunt,  the  girl  had  to  reckon  with  as  she  advanced. 
It  took  her  in  from  head  to  foot,  and  in  doing  so  it 
told  a  story  that  made  poor  Densher  again  the  least 
bit  sick :  it  marked  so  something  with  which  Kate 
habitually  and  consummately  reckoned. 

That  was  the  story — that  she  was  always,  for  her 
beneficent  dragon,  under  arms;  living  up,  every 
hour,  but  especially  at  festal  hours,  to  the  "  value  " 
Mrs.  Lowder  had  attached  to  her.  High  and  fixed, 
this  estimate  ruled,  on  each  occasion,  at  Lancaster 
Gate,  the  social  scene;  so  that  our  young  man  now 
recognised  in  it  something  like  the  artistic  idea,  the 
plastic  substance,  imposed  by  tradition,  by  genius, 
by  criticism,  in  respect  to  a  given  character,  on  a 
distinguished  actress.  As  such  a  person  was  to  dress 
the  part,  to  walk,  to  look,  to  speak,  in  every  way  to 
express,  the  part,  so  all  this  was  what  Kate  was  to 

37 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

do  for  the  character  she  had  undertaken,  under  her 
aunt's  roof,  to  represent.  It  was  made  up,  the  char 
acter,  of  definite  elements  and  touches — things  all 
perfectly  ponderable  to  criticism;  and  the  way  for 
her  to  meet  criticism  was  evidently  at  the  start  to  be 
sure  her  make-up  was  exact  and  that  she  looked  at 
least  no  worse  than  usual.  Aunt  Maud's  apprecia 
tion  of  that  to-night  was  indeed  managerial,  and 
Kate's  own  contribution  fairly  that  of  the  faultless 
soldier  on  parade.  Densher  saw  himself  for  the 
moment  as  in  his  purchased  stall  at  the  play;  the 
watchful  manager  was  in  the  depths  of  a  box  and 
the  poor  actress  in  the  glare  of  the  footlights.  But 
she  passed,  the  poor  actress — he  could  see  how  she 
always  passed;  her  wig,  her  paint,  her  jewels,  every 
mark  of  her  expression  impeccable,  and  her  entrance 
accordingly  greeted  with  the  proper  round  of  ap 
plause.  Such  impressions  as  we  thus  note  for  Den 
sher  come  and  go,  it  must  be  granted,  in  very  much 
less  time  than  notation  demands;  but  we  may  none 
the  less  make  the  point  that  there  was,  still  further, 
time  among  them  for  him  to  feel  almost  too  scared 
to  take  part  in  the  ovation.  He  struck  himself  as 
having  lost,  for  the  minute,  his  presence  of  mind — 
so  that,  at  any  rate,  he  only  stared  in  silence  at  the 
older  woman's  technical  challenge  and  at  the  younger 
one's  disciplined  face.  It  was  as  if  the  drama — it 
thus  came  to  him,  for  the  fact  of  a  drama  there  was 
no  blinking — was  between  them,  them  quite  prepon 
derantly;  with  Merton  Densher  relegated  to  mere 

38 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

spectator  ship,  a  paying  place  in  front,  and  one  of  the 
most  expensive.  This  was  why  his  appreciation  had 
turned  for  the  instant  to  fear — had  just  turned,  as 
we  have  said,  to  sickness;  and  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  the  disciplined  face  did  offer  him  over  the  foot 
lights,  as  he  believed,  the  small  gleam,  fine,  faint,  but 
exquisite,  of  a  special  intelligence.  So  might  a  prac 
tised  performer,  even  when  raked  by  double-bar 
relled  glasses,  seem  to  be  all  in  her  part  and  yet  con 
vey  a  sign  to  the  person  in  the  house  she  loved  best. 

The  drama,  at  all  events,  as  Densher  saw  it,  mean 
while  went  on — amplified  soon  enough  by  the  advent 
of  two  other  guests,  stray  gentlemen  both,  stragglers 
in  the  rout  of  the  season,  who  visibly  presented  them 
selves  to  Kate,  during  the  next  moments,  as  subjects 
for  a  like  impersonal  treatment  and  sharers  in  a  like 
usual  mercy.  At  opposite  ends  of  the  social  course, 
they  displayed,  in  respect  to  the  "  figure  "  that  each, 
in  his  way,  made,  one  the  expansive,  the  other  the 
contractile  effect  of  the  perfect  white  waistcoat.  A 
scratch  company  of  two  innocuous  youths  and  a  paci 
fied  veteran  was  therefore  what  now  offered  itself  to 
Mrs.  Stringham,  who  rustled  in  a  little  breathless 
and  full  of  the  compunction  of  having  had  to  come 
alone.  Her  companion,  at  the  last  moment,  had 
been  indisposed — positively  not  well  enough,  and  so 
had  packed  her  off,  insistently,  with  excuses,  with 
wild  regrets.  This  circumstance  of  their  charming 
friend's  illness  was  the  first  thing  Kate  took  up  with 
Densher  on  their  being  able  after  dinner,  without 

39 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

bravado,  to  have  ten  minutes  "  naturally,"  as  she 
called  it — which  wasn't  what  he  did — together ;  but 
it  was  already  as  if  the  young  man  had,  by  an  odd 
impression,  throughout  the  meal,  not  been  wholly 
deprived  of  Miss  Theale's  participation.  Mrs.  Low- 
der  had  made  dear  Milly  the  topic,  and  it  proved,  on 
the  spot,  a  topic  as  familiar  to  the  enthusiastic 
younger  as  to  the  sagacious  older  man.  Any 
knowledge  they  might  lack  Mrs.  Lowder's  niece  was 
moreover  alert  to  supply,  while  Densher  himself  was 
freely  appealed  to  as  the  most  privileged,  after  all, 
of  the  group.  Wasn't  it  he  who  had  in  a  manner 
invented  the  wonderful  creature — through  having 
seen  her  first,  caught  her  in  her  native  jungle? 
Hadn't  he  more  or  less  paved  the  way  for  her  by  his 
prompt  recognition  of  her  rarity,  by  preceding  her, 
in  a  friendly  spirit — as  he  had  the  "  ear  "  of  society 
— with  a  sharp  flashlight  or  two? 

He  met,  poor  Densher,  these  inquiries  as  he  could, 
listening  with  interest,  yet  with  discomfort;  winc 
ing  in  particular,  dry  journalist  as  he  was,  to  find  it 
seemingly  supposed  of  him  that  he  had  put  his  pen 
— oh,  his  "  pen !  " — at  the  service  of  private  distinc 
tion.  The  ear  of  society? — they  were  talking,  or 
almost,  as  if  he  had  publicly  paragraphed  a  modest 
young  lady.  They  dreamt  dreams,  in  truth,  he  ap 
peared  to  perceive,  that  fairly  waked  him  up,  and  he 
settled  himself  in  his  place  both  to  resist  his  embar 
rassment  and  to  catch  the  full  revelation.  His  em 
barrassment  came,  naturally,  from  the  fact  that  if  he 

40 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

could  claim  no  credit  for  Miss  Theale's  success,  so 
neither  could  he  gracefully  insist  on  his  not  having 
been  concerned  with  her.  What  touched  him  most 
nearly  was  that  the  occasion  took  on  somehow  the 
air  of  a  commemorative  banquet,  a  feast  to  celebrate 
a  brilliant  if  brief  career.  There  was  of  course  more 
said  about  the  heroine  than  if  she  had  not  been  ab 
sent,  and  he  found  himself  rather  stupefied  at  the 
range  of  Milly's  triumph.  Mrs.  Lowder  had  won 
ders  to  tell  of  it;  the  two  wearers  of  the  waistcoat, 
either  with  sincerity  or  with  hypocrisy,  professed  in 
the  matter  an  equal  expertness ;  and  Densher  at  last 
seemed  to  know  himself  in  presence  of  a  social 
"  case."  It  was  Mrs.  Stringham,  obviously,  whose 
testimony  would  have  been  most  invoked  had  she  not 
been,  as  her  friend's  representative,  rather  confined 
to  the  function  of  inhaling  the  incense ;  so  that  Kate, 
who  treated  her  beautifully,  smiling  at  her,  cheering 
and  consoling  her  across  the  table,  appeared  benevo 
lently  both  to  speak  and  to  interpret  for  her.  Kate 
spoke  as  if  she  wouldn't  perhaps  understand  their 
way  of  appreciating  Milly,  but  would  let  them  none 
the  less,  in  justice  to  their  goodwill,  express  it  in 
their  coarser  fashion.  Densher  himself  was  not  un 
conscious  in  respect  to  this  of  a  certain  broad  broth 
erhood  with  Mrs.  Stringham;  wondering  indeed, 
while  he  followed  the  talk,  how  it  might  move 
American  nerves.  He  had  only  heard  of  them  before, 
but  in  his  recent  tour  he  had  caught  them  in  the  fact, 
and  there  was  now  a  moment  or  two  when  it  came  to 

41 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

him  that  he  had  perhaps — and  not  in  the  way  of  an 
escape — taken  a  lesson  from  them. 

They  quivered,  clearly,  they  hummed  and 
drummed,  they  leaped  and  bounded  in  Mrs.  String- 
ham's  typical  organism — this  lady  striking  him  as 
before  all  things  excited,  as,  in  the  native  phrase, 
keyed-tip,  to  a  perception  of  more  elements  in  the 
occasion  than  he  was  himself  able  to  count.  She 
was  accessible  to  sides  of  it,  he  imagined,  that  were 
as  yet  obscure  to  him ;  for,  though  she  unmistakably 
rejoiced  and  soared,  he  none  the  less  saw  her  at  mo 
ments  as  even  more  agitated  than  pleasure  required. 
It  was  a  state  of  emotion  in  her  that  could  scarce 
represent  simply  an  impatience  to  report  at  home. 
Her  little  dry  New  England  brightness — he  had 
"  sampled  "  all  the  shades  of  the  American  complex 
ity,  if  complexity  it  were — had  its  actual  reasons  for 
finding  relief  most  in  silence ;  so  that  before  the  sub 
ject  was  changed  he  perceived — with  surprise  at  the 
others — that  they  had  given  her  enough  of  it.  He 
had  quite  had  enough  of  it  himself  by  the  time  he  was 
asked  if  it  were  true  that  their  friend  had  really  not 
made  in  her  own  country  the  mark  she  had  chalked 
so  large  in  London.  It  was  Mrs.  Lowder  herself 
who  addressed  him  that  inquiry;  while  he  scarce 
knew  if  he  were  the  more  impressed  with  her  launch 
ing  it  under  Mrs.  Stringham's  nose  or  with  her  hope 
that  he  would  allow  to  London  the  honour  of  dis 
covery.  The  innocuous  young  man  propounded  the 
theory  that  they  saw  in  London — for  all  that  was 

42 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

said — much  further  than  in  the  States :  it  wouldn't 
be  the  first  time,  he  urged,  that  they  had  taught  the 
Americans  to  appreciate — especially  when  it  was 
funny — seme  native  product.  He  didn't  mean  that 
Miss  Theale  was  funny — though  she  was  weird,  and 
this  was  precisely  her  magic ;  but  it  might  very  well 
be  that  New  York,  in  having  her  to  show,  hadn't 
been  aware  of  its  luck.  There  were  plenty  of  people 
who  were  nothing  over  there  and  yet  were  awfully 
taken  up  in  England;  just  as — to  make  the  balance 
right,  thank  goodness — they  sometimes  sent  out 
beauties  and  celebrities  who  left  the  Briton  cold. 
The  Briton's  temperature  in  truth  was  not  to  be  cal 
culated — a  formulation  of  the  matter  that  was  not 
reached,  however,  without  producing  in  Mrs.  String- 
ham  a  final  feverish  sally.  She  announced  that  if 
the  point  of  view  for  a  proper  admiration  of  her 
young  friend  had  seemed  to  fail  a  little  in  New  York, 
there  was  no  manner  of  doubt  of  her  having  carried 
Boston  by  storm.  It  pointed  the  moral  that  Boston, 
for  the  finer  taste,  left  New  York  nowhere ;  and  the 
good  lady,  as  the  exponent  of  this  doctrine — which 
she  set  forth  at  a  certain  length — made,  obviously, 
to  Densher's  mind,  her  nearest  approach  to  supply 
ing  the  weirdness  in  which  Milly's  absence  had  left 
them  deficient.  She  made  it  indeed  effective  for  him 
by  suddenly  addressing  him. 

'*  You  know  nothing,  sir — but  not  the  least  little 
bit — about  my  friend." 

He  hadn't  pretended  he  did,  but  there  was  a  purity 
43 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

of  reproach  in  Mrs.  Stringham's  face  and  tone,  a 
purity  charged  apparently  with  solemn  meanings; 
so  that  for  a  little,  small  as  had  been  his  claim,  he 
couldn't  but  feel  that  she  exaggerated.  He  won 
dered  what  she  did  mean,  but  while  doing  so  he  de 
fended  himself.  "  I  certainly  don't  know  enormous 
ly  much — beyond  her  having  been  most  kind  to  me, 
in  New  York,  as  a  poor  bewildered  and  newly  landed 
alien,  and  my  having  tremendously  appreciated  it." 
To  which  he  added,  he  scarce  knew  why,  what  had 
an  immediate  success.  "  Remember,  Mrs.  String- 
ham,  that  you  weren't  then  present." 

"  Ah,  there  you  are !  "  said  Kate  with  a  pleasant 
spirit,  though  whether  for  his  own  or  for  Mrs. 
Stringham's  benefit  he  failed  at  the  time  to  make 
out. 

"  You  weren't  present  then,  dearest,"  Mrs.  Low- 
der  richly  concurred.  "  You  don't  know,"  she  con 
tinued  with  mellow  gaiety,  "  how  far  things  may 
have  gone." 

It  made  the  little  woman,  he  could  see,  really  lose 
her  head.  She  had  more  things  in  mind  than  any 
of  them,  unless  perhaps  it  were  Kate,  whom  he  felt 
as  indirectly  watching  him  during  this  foolish  pas 
sage,  though  it  pleased  him — and  because  of  the  fool 
ishness — not  to  meet  her  eyes.  He  met  Mrs.  String- 
ham's,  which  affected  him:  with  her  he  could  on 
occasion  clear  it  up — a  sense  produced  by  the  mute 
communion  between  them  and  really  the  beginning, 
as  the  event  was  to  show,  of  something  extraordi- 

44 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

nary.  It  was  even  already  a  little  the  effect  of  this 
communion  that  Mrs.  Stringham  perceptibly  faltered 
in  her  retort  to  Mrs.  Lowder's  joke.  "  Oh,  it's  pre 
cisely  my  point  that  Mr.  Densher  can't  have  had  vast 
opportunities."  And  then  she  smiled  at  him.  "  I 
wasn't  away,  you  know,  long." 

It  made  everything,  in  the  oddest  way  in  the 
world,  immediately  right  for  him.  "  And  I  wasn't 
there  long,  either."  He  positively  saw,  with  it,  that 
nothing,  for  him,  so  far  as  she  was  concerned,  would 
again  be  wrong.  "  She's  beautiful,  but  I  don't  say 
she's  easy  to  know." 

"  Ah,  she's  a  thousand  and  one  things !  "  replied 
the  good  lady,  as  if  now  to  keep  well  with  him. 

He  asked  nothing  better.  "  She  was  off  with 
you,  to  these  parts,  before  I  knew  it.  I  myself  was 
off  too — away  off  to  wonderful  parts,  where  I  had 
endlessly  more  to  see." 

"  But  you  didn't  forget  her !  "  Aunt  Maud  inter 
posed,  with  almost  menacing  archness. 

"  No,  of  course  I  didn't  forget  her.  One  doesn't 
forget  such  charming  impressions.  But  I  never," 
he  lucidly  maintained,  "  chattered  to  others  about 
her." 

"  She'll  thank  you  for  that,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  String- 
ham  with  a  flushed  firmness. 

'  Yet  doesn't  silence  in  such  a  case,"  Aunt  Maud 
blandly  inquired,  "  very  often  quite  prove  the  depth 
of  the  impression  ?  " 

He  would  have  been  amused,  had  he  not  been 
45 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

slightly  displeased,  at  all  they  seemed  to  want  to 
fasten  on  him.  "  Well,  the  impression  was  as  deep 
as  you  like.  But  I  really  want  Miss  Theale  to 
know,"  he  pursued  for  Mrs.  Stringham,  "  that  I 
don't  figure  by  any  consent  of  my  own  as  an  author 
ity  about  her." 

Kate  came  to  his  assistance — if  assistance  it  was — 
before  their  friend  had  had  time  to  meet  this  charge. 
"  You're  right  about  her  not  being  easy  to  know. 
One  sees  her,  with  intensity — sees  her  more  than  one 
sees  almost  any  one;  but  then  one  discovers  that 
that  isn't  knowing  her  and  that  one  may  know  better 
a  person  whom  one  doesn't  '  see,'  as  I  say,  half  so 
well." 

The  discrimination  was  interesting,  but  it  brought 
them  back  to  the  fact  of  her  success;  and  it  was  at 
that  comparatively  gross  circumstance,  now  so  fully 
placed  before  them,  that  Milly's  anxious  compan 
ion  sat  and  looked — looked  very  much  as  some  spec 
tator  in  an  old-time  circus  might  have  watched  the 
oddity  of  a  Christian  maiden,  in  the  arena,  mildly, 
caressingly,  martyred.  It  was  the  nosing  and  fumb 
ling  not  of  lions  and  tigers  but  of  domestic  animals 
let  loose  as  for  the  joke.  Even  the  joke  made  Mrs. 
Stringham  uneasy,  and  her  mute  communion  with 
Densher,  to  which  we  have  alluded,  was  more  and 
more  determined  by  it.  He  wondered  afterwards  if 
Kate  had  made  this  out;  though  it  was  not  indeed 
till  much  later  on  that  he  found  himself,  in  thought, 
dividing  the  things  she  might  have  been  conscious 

46 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

of  from  the  things  she  must  have  missed.  If  she 
actually  missed,  at  any  rate,  Mrs.  Stringham's  dis 
comfort,  that  but  showed  how  her  own  idea  held  her. 
Her  own  idea  was,  by  insisting  on  the  fact  of  the 
girl's  prominence  as  a  feature  of  the  season's  end,  to 
keep  Densher  in  relation,  for  the  rest  of  them,  both 
to  present  and  to  past.  "  It's  everything  that  has 
happened  since  that  makes  you  naturally  a  little  shy 
about  her.  You  don't  know  what  has  happened 
since,  but  we  do;  we've  seen  it  and  followed  it; 
we've  a  little  been  of  it."  The  great  thing  for  him, 
at  this,  as  Kate  gave  it,  was  in  fact  quite  irresistibly 
that  the  case  was  a  real  one — the  kind  of  thing  that, 
when  one's  patience  was  shorter  than  one's  curiosity, 
one  had  vaguely  taken  for  possible  in  London,  but 
in  which  one  had  never  been,  even  to  this  small  ex 
tent,  concerned.  The  little  American's  sudden  so 
cial  adventure,  her  happy  and,  no  doubt,  harmless 
flourish,  had  probably  been  favoured  by  several  ac 
cidents,  but  it  had  been  favoured  above  all  by  the 
simple  spring-board  of  the  scene,  by  one  of  those 
common  caprices  of  the  numberless  foolish  flock, 
gregarious  movements  as  inscrutable  as  ocean-cur 
rents.  The  huddled  herd  had  drifted  to  her  blindly 
— it  might  as  blindly  have  drifted  away.  There  had 
been  of  course  a  signal,  but  the  great  reason  was 
probably  the  absence  at  the  moment  of  a  larger  lion. 
The  bigger  beast  would  come  and  the  smaller  would 
then  vanish.  It  was  at  all  events  characteristic,  and 
what  was  of  the  essence  of  it  was  grist  to  his  scrib- 

47 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

bling  mill,  matter  for  his  journalising  hand.  That 
hand  already,  in  intention,  played  over  it — the  "  mo 
tive,"  as  a  sign  of  the  season,  a  feature  of  the  time, 
of  the  purely  expeditious  and  rough-and-tumble 
nature  of  the  social  boom.  The  boom  as  in  itself 
required — that  would  be  the  note;  the  subject  of 
the  process  a  comparatively  minor  question.  Any 
thing  was  boomable  enough  when  nothing  else  was 
more  so :  the  author  of  the  "  rotten  "  book,  the 
beauty  who  was  no  beauty,  the  heiress  who  was  only 
that,  the  stranger  who  was  for  the  most  part  saved 
from  being  inconveniently  strange  but  by  being  in 
conveniently  familiar,  the  American  whose  Ameri 
canism  had  been  long  desperately  discounted,  the 
creature  in  fine  as  to  whom  spangles  or  spots  of  any 
sufficiently  marked  and  applied  sort  could  be  loudly 
enough  predictated. 

So  he  judged,  at  least,  within  his  limits,  and  the 
idea  that  what  he  had  thus  caught  in  the  fact  was  the 
trick  of  fashion  and  the  tone  of  society  went  so  far 
as  to  make  him  take  up  again  his  sense  of  indepen 
dence.  He  had  supposed  himself  civilised;  but  if 

this  was  civilisation !     One  could  smoke  one's 

pipe  outside  when  twaddle  was  within.  He  had 
rather  avoided,  as  we  have  remarked,  Kate's  eyes, 
but  there  came  a  moment  when  he  would  fairly  have 
liked  to  put  it,  across  the  table,  to  her :  "  I  say,  light 
of  my  life,  is  this  the  great  world?  "  There  came 
another,  it  must  be  added — and  doubtless  as  a  result 
of  something  that,  over  the  cloth,  did  hang  between 

48 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

them — when  she  struck  him  as  having  quite  an 
swered  :  "  Dear  no — for  what  do  you  take  me?  Not 
the  least  little  bit:  only  a  poor  silly,  though  quite 
harmless,  imitation."  What  she  might  have  passed 
for  saying,  however,  was  practically  merged  in  what 
she  did  say,  for  she  came  overtly  to  his  aid,  very 
much  as  if  guessing  some  of  his  thoughts.  She 
enunciated,  to  relieve  his  bewilderment,  the  obvious 
truth  that  you  couldn't  leave  London  for  three 
months  at  that  time  of  the  year  and  come  back  to 
find  your  friends  just  where  they  were.  As  they 
had  of  course  been  jigging  away  they  might  well  be 
so  red  in  the  face  that  you  wouldn't  know  them. 
She  reconciled  in  fine  his  disclaimer  about  Milly  with 
that  honour  of  having  discovered  her  which  it  was 
vain  for  him  modestly  to  shirk.  He  had  unearthed 
her,  but  it  was  they,  all  of  them  together,  who  had 
developed  her.  She  was  always  a  charmer,  one  of 
the  greatest  ever  seen,  but  she  wasn't  the  person  he 
had  "  backed." 

Densher  was  to  feel  sure  afterwards  that  Kate  had 
had  in  these  pleasantries  no  conscious,  above  all  no 
insolent  purpose  of  making  light  of  poor  Susan 
Shepherd's  property  in  their  young  friend — which 
property,  by  such  remarks,  was  very  much  pushed  to 
the  wall;  but  he  was  also  to  know  that  Mrs.  String- 
ham  had  secretly  resented  them,  Mrs.  Stringham 
holding  the  opinion,  of  which  he  was  ultimately  to 
have  a  glimpse,  that  all  the  Kate  Croys  in  Christen 
dom  were  but  dust  for  the  feet  of  her  Milly.  That, 

VOL.  II.— 4 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

it  was  true,  would  be  what  she  must  reveal  only 
when  driven  to  her  last  entrenchments  and  well  cor 
nered  in  her  passion — the  rare  passion  of  friendship, 
the  sole  passion  of  her  little  life  save  the  one  other, 
more  imperturbably  cerebral,  that  she  entertained 
for  the  art  of  Guy  de  Maupassant.  She  slipped  in 
the  observation  that  her  Milly  was  incapable  of 
change,  was  just  exactly,  on  the  contrary,  the  same 
Milly;  but  this  made  little  difference  in  the  drift  of 
Kate's  contention.  She  was  perfectly  kind  to  Susie : 
it  was  as  if  she  positively  knew  her  as  handicapped 
for  any  disagreement  by  feeling  that  she,  Kate,  had 
"  type,"  and  by  being  committed  to  admiration  of 
type.  Kate  had  occasion  subsequently — she  found 
it  somehow — to  mention  to  our  young  man  Milly's 
having  spoken  to  her  of  this  view  on  the  good  lady's 
part.  She  would  like — Milly  had  had  it  from  her — 
to  put  Kate  Croy  in  a  book  and  see  what  she  could 
so  do  with  her.  "  Chop  me  up  fine  or  serve  me 
whole  " — it  was  a  way  of  being  got  at  that  Kate  pro 
fessed  she  dreaded.  It  would  be  Mrs.  Stringham's, 
however,  she  understood,  because  Mrs.  Stringhara, 
oddly,  felt  that  with  such  stuff  as  the  strange  English 
girl  was  made  of,  stuff  that  (in  spite  of  Maud  Man- 
ningham,  who  was  full  of  sentiment)  she  had  never 
known,  there  was  none  other  to  be  employed. 
These  things  were  of  later  evidence,  yet  Densher 
might  even  then  have  felt  them  in  the  air.  They 
were  practically  in  it  already  when  Kate,  waiving  the 
question  of  her  friend's  chemical  change,  wound  up 

5° 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

with  the  comparatively  unobjectionable  proposition 
that  he  must  now,  having  missed  so  much,  take  them 
all  up,  on  trust,  further  on.  He  met  it  peacefully,  a 
little  perhaps  as  an  example  to  Mrs.  Stringham — 
"  Oh,  as  far  on  as  you  like !  "  This  even  had  its  ef 
fect  :  Mrs.  Stringham  appropriated  as  much  of  it  as 
might  be  meant  for  herself.  The  nice  thing  about 
her  was  that  she  could  measure  how  much;  so  that 
by  the  time  dinner  was  over  they  had  really  covered 
ground. 


XX 

THE  younger  of  the  other  men,  it  afterwards  ap 
peared,  was  most  in  his  element  at  the  piano;  so  that 
they  had  coffee  and  comic  songs  upstairs — the  gen 
tlemen,  temporarily  relinquished,  submitting  easily 
in  this  interest  to  Mrs.  Lowder's  parting  injunction 
not  to  sit  too  tight.  Our  especial  young  man  sat 
tighter  when  restored  to  the  drawing-room;  he 
made  it  out  perfectly  with  Kate  that  they  might, 
off  and  on,  foregather  without  offence.  He  had 
perhaps  stronger  needs  in  this  general  respect  than 
she;  but  she  had  better  names  for  the  scant  risks  to 
which  she  consented.  It  was  the  blessing  of  a  big 
house  that  intervals  were  large  and,  of  an  August 
night,  that  windows  were  open;  whereby,  at  a  given 
moment,  on  the  wide  balcony,  with  the  songs  suffi 
ciently  sung,  Aunt  Maud  could  hold  her  little  court 
more  freshly.  Densher  and  Kate,  during  these  mo 
ments,  occupied,  side  by  side,  a  small  sofa — a  luxury 
formulated  by  the  latter  as  the  proof,  under  criticism, 
of  their  remarkably  good  conscience.  "  To  seem 
not  to  know  each  other — once  you're  here — would 
be,"  the  girl  said,  "  to  overdo  it  ";  and  she  arranged 
it  charmingly  that  they  must  have  some  passage  to 
put  Aunt  Maud  off  the  scent.  She  would  be  won 
dering  otherwise  what  in  the  world  they  found  their 

52 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

account  in.  For  Densher,  none  the  less,  the  profit 
of  snatched  moments,  snatched  contacts,  was  partial 
and  poor;  there  were  in  particular  at  present  more 
things  in  his  mind  than  he  could  bring  out  while 
watching  the  windows.  It  was  true,  on  the  other 
hand,  that  she  suddenly  met  most  of  them — and 
more  than  he  could  see  on  the  spot — by  coming  out 
for  him  with  a  reference  to  Milly  that  was  not  in  the 
key  of  those  made  at  dinner.  "  She's  not  a  bit 
right,  you  know.  I  mean  in  health.  Just  see  her 
to-night.  I  mean  it  looks  grave.  For  you  she 
would  have  come,  you  know,  if  it  had  been  at  all  pos 
sible." 

He  took  this  in  such  patience  as  he  could  muster. 
"  What's  the  matter  with  her?  " 

But  Kate  continued  without  saying.  "  Unless 
indeed  your  being  here  has  been  just  a  reason  for 
her  funking  it." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  her?  "  Densher  asked 
again. 

"  Why,  just  what  I've  told  you — that  she  likes  you 
so  much." 

"  Then  why  should  she  deny  herself  the  joy  of 
meeting  me?  " 

Kate  had  an  hesitation — it  would  take  so  long  to 
explain.  "  And  perhaps  it's  true  that  she  is  bad. 
She  easily  may  be." 

"  Quite  easily,  I  should  say,  judging  by  Mrs. 
Stringham,  who's  visibly  preoccupied  and  wor 
ried." 

53 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

"  Visibly  enough.  Yet  it  mayn't,"  said  Kate, 
"  be  only  for  that." 

"For  what  then?" 

But  this  question  too,  on  thinking,  she  neglected. 
"  Why,  if  it's  anything  real,  doesn't  she  go  home? 
She  would  be  anxious,  and  she  has  done  all  she  need 
to  be  civil." 

"  I  think,"  Densher  remarked,  "  she  has  been 
quite  beautifully  civil." 

It  made  Kate,  he  fancied,  look  at  him  the  least  bit 
harder;  but  she  was  already,  in  a  manner,  explain 
ing.  "  Her  preoccupation  is  probably  on  two  differ 
ent  heads.  One  of  them  would  make  her  hurry 
back,  but  the  other  makes  her  stay.  She's  commis 
sioned  to  tell  Milly  all  about  you." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  the  young  man  between  a 
laugh  and  a  sigh,  "  I'm  glad  I  felt,  downstairs,  a  kind 
of  '  drawing '  to  her.  Wasn't  I  rather  decent  to 
her?  " 

"  Awfully  nice.  You've  instincts,  you  fiend.  It's 
all,"  Kate  declared,  "  as  it  should  be." 

"  Except  perhaps,"  he  after  a  moment  cynically 
suggested,  "  that  she  isn't  getting  much  good  of  me 
now.  Will  she  report  to  Milly  on  this?  '  And 
then  as  Kate  seemed  to  wonder  what  "  this  "  might 
be,  "  On  our  present  disregard  for  appearances." 

"  Ah,  leave  appearances  to  me !  "  She  spoke  in 
her  high  way.  "  I'll  make  them  all  right.  Aunt 
Maud,  moreover,"  she  added,  "  has  her  so  engaged 
that  she  won't  notice."  Densher  felt,  with  this,  that 

54 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

his  companion  had  indeed  perceptive  flights  that  he 
couldn't  hope  to  match — had  for  instance  another 
when  she  still  subjoined :  "  And  Mrs.  Stringham's 
appearing  to  respond  just  in  order  to  make  that  im 
pression." 

"  Well,"  Densher  dropped  with  some  humour, 
"  life's  very  interesting !  I  hope  it's  really  as  much 
so  for  you  as  you  make  it  for  others;  I  mean  judging 
by  what  you  make  it  for  me.  You  seem  to  me  to 
represent  it  as  thrilling  for  ces  dames,  and  in  a  differ 
ent  way  for  each:  Aunt  Maud,  Susan  Shepherd, 
Milly.  But  what  is,"  he  wound  up,  "  the  matter? 
Do  you  mean  she's  as  ill  as  she  looks?  " 

Kate's  face  struck  him  as  replying  at  first  that  his 
derisive  speech  deserved  no  satisfaction;  then  she 
appeared  to  yield  to  a  need  of  her  own — the  need 
to  make  the  point  that  "  as  ill  as  she  looked  "  was 
what  Milly  scarce  could  be.  If  she  were  as  ill  as  she 
looked  she  could  scarce  be  a  question  with  them, 
for  her  end  would  in  that  case  be  near.  She  believed 
herself  nevertheless — and  Kate  couldn't  help  believ 
ing  her  too — seriously  menaced.  There  was  always 
the  fact  that  they  had  been  on  the  point  of  leaving 
town,  the  two  ladies,  and  had  suddenly  been  pulled 
up.  "  We  bade  them  good-bye — or  all  but — Aunt 
Maud  and  I,  the  night  before  Milly,  popping  so  very 
oddly  into  the  National  Gallery  for  a  farewell  look, 
found  you  and  me  together.  They  were  then  to  get 
off  a  day  or  two  later.  But  they've  not  got  off — 
they're  not  getting  off.  When  I  see  them — and  I 

55 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

t,aw  them  this  morning — they  have  showy  reasons. 
They  do  mean  to  go,  but  they've  postponed  it." 
With  which  the  girl  brought  out :  "  They've  post 
poned  it  for  you."  He  protested  so  far  as  a  man 
might  without  fatuity,  since  a  protest  was  itself  cred 
ulous;  but  Kate,  as  ever,  understood  herself. 
"  You've  made  Milly  change  her  mind.  She  wants 
not  to  miss  you — though  she  wants  also  not  to  show 
she  wants  you;  which  is  why,  as  I  hinted  a  moment 
ago,  she  may  consciously  have  hung  back  to-night. 
She  doesn't  know  when  she  may  see  you  again — 
she  doesn't  know  she  ever  may.  She  doesn't  see  the 
future.  It  has  opened  out  before  her  in  these  last 
weeks  as  a  dark,  confused  thing." 

Densher  wondered.  "  After  the  tremendous 
time  you've  all  been  telling  me  she  has  had?  " 

"  That's  it.     There's  a  shadow  across  it." 

"  That  of  what  you  allude  to  as  some  physical 
break-up?  " 

"  Some  physical  break-down.  Nothing  less. 
She's  scared.  She  has  so  much  to  lose.  And  she 
wants  more." 

"  Ah,  well,"  said  Densher,  with  a  sudden  strange 
sense  of  discomfort,  "  couldn't  one  say  to  her  that 
she  can't  have  everything?  " 

"  No — for  one  wouldn't  want  to.  She  really," 
Kate  went  on,  "  has  been  somebody  here.  Ask 
Aunt  Maud — you  may  think  me  prejudiced,"  the 
girl  oddly  smiled.  "  Aunt  Maud  will  tell  you — the 
world's  before  her.  It  has  all  come  since  you  saw 

56 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

her,  and  it's  a  pity  you've  missed  it,  for  it  certainly 
would  have  amused  you.  She  has  really  been  a  per 
fect  success — I  mean  of  course  so  far  as  possible  in 
the  scrap  of  time — and  she  has  taken  it  like  a  perfect 
angel.  If  you  can  imagine  an  angel  with  a  thump 
ing  bank-account  you'll  have  the  simplest  expression 
of  the  kind  of  thing.  Her  fortune's  absolutely 
huge;  Aunt  Maud  has  had  all  the  facts,  or  enough 
of  them,  in  the  last  confidence,  from  '  Susie/  and 
Susie  speaks  by  book.  Take  them  then,  in  the  last 
confidence,  from  me.  There  she  is."  Kate  ex 
pressed  above  all  what  it  most  came  to.  "  It's  open 
to  her  to  make,  you  see,  the  very  greatest  marriage. 
I  assure  you  we're  not  vulgar  about  her.  Her  pos 
sibilities  are  quite  plain." 

Densher  showed  he  neither  disbelieved  nor 
grudged  them.  "  But  what  good  then,  on  earth, 
can  I  do  her?  " 

^  Well,  she  had  it  ready.     You  can  console  her." 

"And  for  what?" 

"  For  all  that,  if  she's  stricken,  she  must  see  swept 
away.  I  shouldn't  care  for  her  if  she  hadn't  so 
much,"  Kate  very  simply  said.  And  then  as  it  made 
him  laugh  not  quite  happily :  "  I  shouldn't  trouble 
about  her  if  there  were  one  thing  she  did  have." 
The  girl  spoke  indeed  with  a  noble  compassion. 
"  She  has  nothing." 

"  Not  all  the  young  dukes?  " 

"  Well  we  must  see — see  if  anything  can  come  of 
them.  She  at  any  rate  does  love  life.  To  have  met 

57 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

a  person  like  you,"  Kate  further  explained,  "  is  to 
have  felt  you  become,  with  all  the  other  fine  things, 
a  part  of  life.  Oh,  she  has  you  arranged !  " 

"  You  have,  it  strikes  me,  my  dear  " — and  he 
looked  both  detached  and  rueful.  "  Pray,  what  am 
I  to  do  with  the  dukes?  " 

"  Oh,  the  dukes  will  be  disappointed !  " 

"Then  why  shan't  I  be?" 

"  You'll  have  expected  less,"  Kate  wonderfully 
smiled.  "  Besides,  you  will  be.  You'll  have  ex 
pected  enough  for  that." 

"  Yet  it's  what  you  want  to  let  me  in  for?  " 

"  I  want,"  said  the  girl,  "  to  make  things  pleasant 
for  her.  I  use,  for  the  purpose,  what  I  have. 
You're  what  I  have  of  most  precious,  and  you're 
therefore  what  I  use  most." 

He  looked  at  her  long.  "  I  wish  I  could  use  you 
a  little  more."  After  which,  as  she  continued  to 
smile  at  him,  "  Is  it  a  bad  case  of  lungs?  "  he  asked. 

Kate  showed  for  a  little  as  if  she  wished  it  might 
be.  "  Not  lungs,  I  think.  Isn't  consumption, 
taken  in  time,  now  curable?  " 

"  People  are,  no  doubt,  patched  up."  But  he 
wondered.  "  Do  you  mean  she  has  something 
that's  past  patching?  "  And  before  she  could  an 
swer,  "  It's  really  as  if  her  appearance  put  her  out 
side  of  such  things — being,  in  spite  of  her  youth,  that 
of  a  person  who  has  been  through  all  it's  conceiv 
able  she  should  be  exposed  to.  She  affects  one,  I 
should  say,  as  a  creature  saved  from  a  shipwreck. 

53 


THE   WINGS  OF   THE   DOVE 

Such  a  creature  may  surely,  in  these  days,  on  the 
doctrine  of  chances,  go  to  sea  again  with  confidence. 
She  has  had  her  wreck — she  has  met  her  adventure." 

"  Oh,  I  grant  you  her  wreck !  " — Kate  was  all  re 
sponse  so  far.  "  But  do  let  her  have  still  her  ad 
venture.  There  are  wrecks  that  are  not  advent 
ures." 

"  Well — if  there  be  also  adventures  that  are  not 
wrecks !  "  Densher  in  short  was  willing,  but  he 
came  back  to  his  point.  "  What  I  mean  is  that  she 
has  none  of  the  effect — on  one's  nerves  or  whatever 
— of  an  invalid." 

Kate  on  her  side  did  this  justice.  "  No — that's 
the  beauty  of  her." 

"  The  beauty ?  " 

"  Yes,  she's  so  wonderful.  She  won't  show  for 
that,  any  more  than  your  watch,  when  it's  about  to 
stop  for  want  of  being  wound  up,  gives  you  conveni 
ent  notice  or  shows  as  different  from  usual.  She 
won't  die,  she  won't  live,  by  inches.  She  won't 
smell,  as  it  were,  of  drugs.  She  won't  taste,  as  it 
were,  of  medicine.  No  one  will  know." 

"  Then  what,"  he  demanded,  frankly  mystified 
now,  "are  we  talking  about?  In  what  extraordi 
nary  state  is  she? " 

Kate  went  on  as  if,  at  this,  making  it  out,  in  a 
fashion,  for  herself.  "  I  believe  that  if  she's  ill  at  all 
she's  very  ill.  I  believe  that  if  she's  bad  she's  not  a 
little  bad.  I  can't  tell  you  why,  but  that's  how  I  see 
her.  She'll  really  live  or  she'll  really  not.  She'll 

59 


THE   WINGS    OF   THE   DOVE 

have  it  all  or  she'll  miss  it  all.  Now  I  don't  think 
she'll  have  it  all." 

Densher  had  followed  this,  with  his  eye  upon  her 
— her  own  having  thoughtfully  wandered — as  if  it 
were  more  impressive  than  lucid.  '  You  *  think,' 
and  you  '  don't  think,'  and  yet  you  remain  all  the 
while  without  an  inkling  of  her  complaint?  " 

"  No,  not  without  an  inkling;  but  it's  a  matter  in 
which  I  don't  want  knowledge.  She  moreover  her 
self  doesn't  want  one  to  want  it :  she  has,  as  to  what 
may  be  preying  upon  her,  a  kind  of  ferocity  of  mod 
esty,  a  kind  of — I  don't  know  what  to  call  it — in 
tensity  of  pride.  And  then,  and  then "  But 

with  this  she  faltered. 

"And  then  what?" 

"  I'm  a  brute  about  illness.  I  hate  it.  It's  well 
for  you,  my  dear,"  Kate  continued,  "  that  you're  as 
sound  as  a  bell." 

"  Thank  you !  "  Densher  laughed.  "  It's  rather 
good  then  for  yourself  too  that  you're  as  strong  as 
the  sea." 

She  looked  at  him  now  a  moment  as  for  the  selfish 
gladness  of  their  young  immunities.  It  was  all  they 
had  together,  but  they  had  it  at  least  without  a  flaw 
— each  had  the  beauty,  the  physical  felicity,  the  per 
sonal  virtue,  love  and  desire  of  the  other.  Yet  it 
was  as  if  this  very  consciousness  threw  them  back 
the  next  moment  into  pity  for  the  poor  girl  who  had 
everything  else  in  the  world,  the  great  genial  good 
they,  alas,  didn't  have,  but  failed,  on  the  other  hand, 

60 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

of  this.  "  How  we're  talking  about  her !  "  Kate 
compunctiously  sighed.  But  there  were  the  facts. 
"  From  illness  I  keep  away." 

"  But  you  don't — since  here  you  are,  in  spite  of 
all  you  say,  in  the  midst  of  it." 

"  Ah,  I'm  only  watching !  " 

"  And  putting  me  forward  in  your  place?  Thank 
you!" 

"  Oh,"  said  Kate,  "  I'm  breaking  you  in.  Let  it 
give  you  the  measure  of  what  I  shall  expect  of  you. 
One  can't  begin  too  soon." 

She  drew  away,  as  if  under  the  impression  of  a  stir 
on  the  balcony,  the  hand  of  which  he  had  a  minute 
before  possessed  himself;  and  the  warning  brought 
him  back  to  attention.  "  You  haven't  even  an  idea 
if  it's  a  case  for  surgery?  " 

"  I  dare  say  it  may  be ;  that  is  that  if  it  comes  to 
anything  it  may  come  to  that.  Of  course  she's  in 
the  highest  hands." 

"  The  doctors  are  after  her  then  ?  " 

"  She's  after  them — it's  the  same  thing.  I  think 
I'm  free  to  say  it  now — she  sees  Sir  Luke  Strett." 

It  made  him  quickly  wince.  "  Ah,  fifty  thousand 
knives !  "  Then  after  an  instant :  "  One  seems  to 
guess."  Yes,  but  she  waved  it  away.  "  Don't 
guess.  Only  do  as  I  tell  you." 

For  a  moment  now,  in  silence,  he  took  it  all  in, 
might  have  had  it  before  him.  "  What  you  want  of 
me  then  is  to  make  up  to  a  sick  girl." 

"  Ah,  but  you  admit  yourself  that  she  doesn't  af- 
61 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

feet  you  as  sick.  You  understand  moreover  just 
how  much — and  just  how  little." 

"  It's  amazing,"  he  presently  answered,  "  what 
you  think  I  understand." 

"  Well,  if  you've  brought  me  to  it,  my  dear,"  she 
returned,  "  that  has  been  your  way  of  breaking  me 
in.  Besides  which,  so  far  as  making  up  to  her  goes, 
plenty  of  others  will." 

Densher  for  a  little,  under  this  suggestion,  might 
have  been  seeing  their  young  friend,  on  a  pile  of 
cushions  and  in  a  perpetual  teagown,  amid  flowers 
and  with  drawn  blinds,  surrounded  by  the  higher 
nobility.  "  Others  can  follow  their  tastes.  Be 
sides,  others  are  free." 

"  But  so  are  you,  my  dear !  " 

She  had  spoken  with  impatience,  and  her  sud 
denly  quitting  him  had  sharpened  it;  in  spite  of 
which  he  kept  his  place,  only  looking  up  at  her. 
*  You're  prodigious !  " 

"Of  course  I'm  prodigious!" — and,  as  immedi 
ately  happened,  she  gave  a  further  sign  of  it  that  he 
fairly  sat  watching.  The  door  from  the  lobby  had, 
as  she  spoke,  been  thrown  open  for  a  gentleman  who, 
immediately  finding  her  within  his  view,  advanced 
to  greet  her  before  the  announcement  of  his  name 
could  reach  her  companion.  Densher  none  the  less 
felt  himself  brought  quickly  into  relation;  Kate's 
welcome  to  the  visitor  became  almost  precipitately  an 
appeal  to  her  friend,  who  slowly  rose  to  meet  it.  "  I 
don't  know  whether  you  know  Lord  Mark."  And 

62 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

then  for  the  other  party :  "Mr.  Merton  Densher — 
who  has  just  come  back  from  America." 

"  Oh !  "  said  the  other  party,  while  Densher  said 
nothing — occupied  as  he  mainly  was  on  the  spot  with 
weighing  the  sound  in  question.  He  recognised  it 
in  a  moment  as  less  imponderable  than  it  might  have 
appeared,  as  having  indeed  positive  claims.  It 
wasn't,  that  is,  he  knew  the  "  Oh !  "  of  the  idiot,,, 
however  great  the  superficial  resemblance :  it  was 
that  of  the  clever,  the  accomplished  man ;  it  was  the 
very  specialty  of  the  speaker,  and  a  deal  of  expensive 
training  and  experience  had  gone  to  producing  it. 
Densher  felt  somehow  that,  as  a  thing  of  value  acci 
dentally  picked  up,  it  would  retain  an  interest  of 
curiosity.  The  three  stood  for  a  little  together  in 
an  awkwardness  to  which  he  was  conscious  of  con 
tributing  his  share ;  Kate  failing  to  ask  Lord  Mark 
to  be  seated,  but  letting  him  know  that  he  would 
find  Mrs.  Lowder,  with  some  others,  on  the  balcony. 

"  Oh,  and  Miss  Theale  I  suppose? — as  I  seemed  to 
hear  outside,  from  below,  Mrs.  Stringham's  unmis 
takable  voice." 

:t  Yes,  but  Mrs.  Stringham's  alone.  Milly's  un 
well,"  the  girl  explained,  "  and  was  compelled  to  dis 
appoint  us." 

"  Ah,  '  disappoint ' — rather !  "  And,  lingering  a 
little,  he  had  his  eyes  on  Densher  while  he  inquired 
further.  "  She  isn't  really  bad,  I  trust?  " 

Densher,  after  all  he  had  heard,  easily  supposed 
him  interested  in  Milly;  but  he  could  imagine  him 

63 


\ 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

also  interested  in  the  young  man  with  whom  he  had 
found  Kate  engaged  and  whom  he  yet  considered 
without  visible  intelligence.  Densher  was  sure, 
however,  in  a  moment,  that  he  was  doing  what  he 
wanted,  satisfying  himself  as  to  each.  To  this  he 
was  aided  by  Kate,  who  produced  a  prompt :  "  Oh 
dear  no ;  I  think  not.  I've  just  been  reassuring  Mr. 
Densher,"  she  added — "  who's  as  concerned  as  the 
rest  of  us.  I've  been  calming  his  fears." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Lord  Mark  again — and  again  it  was 
just  as  good.  That  was  for  Densher,  the  latter 
could  see,  or  think  he  saw.  And  then  for  the  others : 
"  My  fears  would  want  calming.  We  must  take 
great  care  of  her.  This  way  ?  " 

She  went  with  him  a  few  steps,  and  while  Den 
sher,  hanging  about,  gave  them  frank  attention,  pres 
ently  paused  again  for  some  further  colloquy.  What 
passed  between  them  our  young  man  lost,  but  she 
was  presently  with  him  again,  Lord  Mark  joining 
the  rest.  Densher  was  by  this  time  quite  ready  for 
her.  "  It's  he  who's  your  aunt's  man  ?  " 

"  Oh,  immensely." 

"  I  mean  for  you." 

"  That's  what  I  mean  too,"  Kate  smiled.  "  There 
he  is.  Now  you  can  judge." 

"Judge  of 'what?" 

"  Judge  of  him." 

"  Why  should  I  judge  of  him?  "  Densher  asked. 
"  I've  nothing  to  do  with  him." 

"  Then  why  do  you  ask  about  him  ?  " 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

"  To  judge  of  you — which  is  different." 

Kate,  for  a  little,  seemed  to  look  at  the  difference, 
'''  To  take  the  measure,  do  you  mean,  of  my  dan- 
ger?" 

He  hesitated ;  then  he  said :  "  I'm  thinking,  I  dare 
say,  of  Miss  Theale's.  How  does  your  aunt  recon 
cile  his  interest  in  her ?  " 

"  With  his  interest  in  me?  " 

"  With  her  own  interest  in  you,"  Densher  said 
while  she  reflected.  "  If  that  interest — Mrs.  Low- 
der's — takes  the  form  of  Lord  Mark,  hasn't  he  rather 
to  look  out  for  the  forms  he  takes  ?  " 

Kate  seemed  interested  in  the  question,  but  "  Oh, 
he  takes  them  easily,"  she  answered.  "  The  beauty 
is  that  she  doesn't  trust  him." 

"  That  Milly  doesn't?" 

"  Yes — Milly  either.  But  I  mean  Aunt  Maud. 
Not  really." 

Densher  gave  it  his  wonder.  "  Takes  him  to  her 
heart  and  yet  thinks  he  cheats  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Kate — "  that's  the  way  people  are. 
What  they  think  of  their  enemies,  goodness  knows, 
is  bad  enough;  but  I'm  still  more  struck  with  what 
they  think  of  their  friends.  Milly's  own  state  of 
mind,  however,"  she  went  on,  "  is  lucky.  That's 
Aunt  Maud's  security,  though  she  doesn't  yet  fully 
recognise  it — besides  being  Milly's  own." 

"  You  conceive  it  a  real  escape  then  not  to  care 
for  him?" 

She  shook  her  head  in  beautiful  grave  deprecation. 

VOL.  II.— 5  65 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

"  You  oughtn't  to  make  me  say  too  much.  But  I'm 
glad  I  don't." 

"  Don't  say  too  much  ?  " 

"  Don't  care  for  Lord  Mark." 

"  Oh !  "  Densher  answered  with  a  sound  like  his 
lordship's  own.  To  which  he  added :  "  You  abso 
lutely  hold  that  that  poor  girl  doesn't?  " 

"  Ah,  you  know  what  I  hold  about  that  poor 
girl !  "  It  had  made  her  again  impatient. 

Yet  he  stuck  a  minute  to  the  subject.  '  You 
scarcely  call  him,  I  suppose,  one  of  the  dukes." 

"  Mercy,  no — far  from  it.  He's  not,  compared 
with  other  possibilities,  '  in  '  it.  Milly,  it's  true," 
she  said,  to  be  exact,  "  has  no  natural  sense  of  social 
values,  doesn't  in  the  least  understand  our  differ 
ences  or  know  who's  who  or  what's  what." 

"  I  see.  That,"  Densher  laughed,  "  is  her  reason 
for  liking  me." 

"  Precisely.  She  doesn't  resemble  me,"  said 
Kate,  "  who  at  least  know  what  I  lose." 

Well,  it  had  all  risen  for  Densher  to  a  considerable 
interest.  "  And  Aunt  Maud — why  shouldn't  she 
know?  I  mean  that  your  friend  there  isn't  really 
anything.  Does  she  suppose  him  of  ducal  value  ?  " 

"  Scarcely ;  save  in  the  sense  of  being  uncle  to  a 
duke.  That's  undeniably  something.  He's  the 
best  moreover  we  can  get." 

"  Oh,  oh !  "  said  Densher ;  and  his  doubt  was  not 
all  derisive. 

"  It  isn't  Lord  Mark's  grandeur,"  she  went  on 
66 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

without  heeding  this ;  "  because  perhaps  in  the  line 
of  that  alone — as  he  has  no  money — more  could  be 
done.  But  she's  not  a  bit  sordid;  she  only  counts 
with  the  sordidness  of  others.  Besides,  he's  grand 
enough,  with  a  duke  in  his  family  and  at  the  other 
end  of  the  string.  The  thing's  his  genius." 

"  And  do  you  believe  in  that?  " 

"In  Lord  Mark's  genius?"  Kate,  as  if  for  a 
more  final  opinion  than  had  yet  been  asked  of  her, 
took  a  moment  to  think.  She  looked  indeed  so  that 
one  would  scarce  have  known  what  to  expect;  but 
she  came  out  in  time  with  a  very  sufficient  "  Yes !  " 

"Political?" 

"  Universal.  I  don't  know  at  least,"  she  said, 
"  what  else  to  call  it  when  a  man  is  able  to  make 
himself  without  effort,  without  violence,  without 
machinery  of  any  sort,  so  intensely  felt.  He  has 
somehow  an  effect  without  his  being  in  any  traceable 
way  a  cause." 

"  Ah,  but  if  the  effect,"  said  Densher  with  con 
scious  superficiality,  "  isn't  agreeable ?  " 

"Oh,  but  it  is!" 

"  Not,  surely,  for  everyone." 

"  If  you  mean  not  for  you,"  Kate  returned,  "  you 
may  have  reasons — and  men  don't  count.     Women 
don't  know  if  it's  agreeable  or  not." 
*  Then  there  you  are!  " 

"  Yes,  precisely — that  takes,  on  his  part,  genius." 

Densher  stood  before  her  as  if  he  wondered  what 
everything  she  thus  promptly,  easily  and,  above  all, 

67 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

amusingly  met  him  with,  would  have  been  found, 
should  it  have  come  to  an  analysis,  to  "  take."  Some 
thing  suddenly,  as  if  under  a  last  determinant  touch, 
welled  up  in  him  and  overflowed — the  sense  of  his 
good  fortune  and  her  variety,  of  the  future  she  prom 
ised,  the  interest  she  supplied.  "  All  women  but  you 
are  stupid.  How  can  I  look  at  another?  You're 
different  and  different — and  then  you're  different 
again.  No  marvel  Aunt  Maud  builds  on  you — ex 
cept  that  you're  so  much  too  good  for  what  she 
builds  for.  Even  *  society  '  won't  know  how  good 
for  it  you  are ;  it's  too  stupid,  and  you're  beyond  it. 
You'd  have  to  pull  it  uphill — it's  you  yourself  who 
are  at  the  top.  The  women  one  meets — what  are 
they  but  books  one  has  already  read?  You're  a 
whole  library  of  the  unknown,  the  uncut."  He  al 
most  moaned,  he  ached,  from  the  depth  of  his  con 
tent.  "  Upon  my  word,  I've  a  subscription !  " 

She  took  it  from  him  with  her  face  again,  in  an 
swer,  giving  out  all  it  had,  and  they  remained  once 
more  confronted  and  united  in  their  essential  wealth 
of  life.  "  It's  you  who  draw  me  out.  I  exist  in 
you.  Not  in  others." 

It  had  been,  however,  as  if  the  thrill  of  their  as 
sociation  itself  pressed  in  him,  as  great  felicities  do, 
the  sharp  spring  of  fear.  "  See  here,  you  know : 
don't,  don't !  " 

"Don't  what?" 

"  Don't  fail  me.     It  would  kill  me." 

She  looked  at  him  a  minute  with  no  response  but 
68 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

her  eyes.  "  So  you  think  you'll  kill  me,  in  time,  to 
prevent  it  ?  "  She  smiled,  but  he  saw  her  the  next 
instant  as  smiling  through  tears ;  and  the  instant  af 
ter  this,  she  had  got,  in  respect  to  the  particular  point, 
quite  off.  She  had  come  back  to  another,  which  was 
one  of  her  own;  her  own  were  so  closely  connected 
that  Densher's  were  at  best  but  parenthetic.  Still, 
she  had  a  distance  to  go.  "  You  do  then  see  your 
way?"  She  put  it  to  him  before  they  joined — as 
was  high  time — the  others.  And  she  made  him  un 
derstand  that  she  meant  his  way  with  Milly. 

He  had  dropped  a  little  in  presence  of  the  explana 
tion  ;  then  she  had  brought  him  up  to  a  sort  of  recog 
nition.  He  could  make  out  by  this  light  something 
of  what  he  saw,  but  a  dimness  also  there  was,  un- 
dispelled  since  his  return.  "  There's  something  you 
must  definitely  tell  me.  If  our  friend  knows  that, 
all  the  while ?" 

She  came  straight  to  his  aid,  formulating  for  him 
his  anxiety,  though  quite  to  smooth  it  down.  "  All 
the  while  she  and  I,  here,  were  growing  intimate, 
you  and  I  were  in  unmentioned  relation?  If  she 
knows  that,  yes,  she  knows  our  relation  consisted  in 
your  writing  to  me." 

u  Then  how  could  she  suppose  you  weren't  an 
swering?  " 

"  She  doesn't  suppose  it." 

"  How  then  can  she  imagine  you  never  named 
her?" 

"  She  doesn't.     She  knows  now  I  did  name  her. 
69 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

I've  told  her  everything.  She's  in  possession  of 
reasons  which  will  perfectly  do." 

Still  he  just  brooded.  "  She  takes  things  from 
you  exactly  as  I  do?  " 

"  Exactly  as  you  do." 

"  She's  just  such  another  victim  ?  " 

"  Just  such  another.     You're  a  pair." 

"  Then  if  anything  happens/'  said  Densher,  "  we 
can  console  each  other?  " 

"  Ah,  something  may  indeed  happen,"  she  ex 
claimed,  "  if  you'll  only  go  straight!  " 

He  watched  the  others  an  instant  through  the 
window.  "  What  do  you  mean  by  going  straight  ?  " 

"  Not  worrying.  Doing  as  you  like.  Try,  as 
I've  told  you  before,  and  you'll  see.  You'll  have  me 
perfectly,  always,  to  refer  to." 

"  Oh,  rather,  I  hope !     But  if  she's  going  away?  " 

It  pulled  Kate  up  but  a  moment.  "  I'll  bring  her 
back.  There  you  are.  You  won't  be  able  to  say 
that  I've  not  made  it  smooth  for  you." 

He  faced  it  all,  and  certainly  it  was  queer.  But 
it  was  not  the  queerness  that,  after  another  minute, 
was  uppermost.  He  was  in  a  wondrous  silken  web, 
and  it  was  amusing.  "  You  spoil  me!  " 

He  was  not  sure  if  Mrs.  Lowder,  who  at  this 
juncture  reappeared,  had  caught  his  word  as  it 
dropped  from  him;  probably  not,  he  thought,  her 
attention  being  given  to  Mrs.  Stringham,  with  whom 
she  came  through  and  who  was  now,  none  too  soon, 
taking  leave  of  her.  They  were  followed  by  Lord 

70 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

Mark  and  by  the  other  men,  but  two  or  three  things 
happened  before  any  dispersal  of  the  company  be 
gan.  One  of  these  was  that  Kate  found  time  to  say 
to  him  with  furtive  emphasis :  "  You  must  go  now !  " 
Another  was  that  she  next  addressed  herself  in  all 
frankness  to  Lord  Mark,  drew  near  to  him  with  an 
almost  reproachful  "  Come  and  talk  to  me! " — a 
challenge  resulting  after  a  minute  for  Densher  in  a 
consciousness  of  their  installation  together  in  an  out- 
of-the-way  corner,  though  not  the  same  he  himself 
had  just  occupied  with  her.  Still  another  was  that 
Mrs.  Stringham,  in  the  random  intensity  of  her  fare 
wells,  affected  him  as  looking  at  him  with  a  small 
grave  intimation,  something  into  which  he  after 
wards  read  the  meaning  that  if  he  had  happened  to 
desire  a  few  words  with  her  after  dinner  he  would 
have  found  her  ready.  This  impression  was  nat 
urally  light,  but  it  just  left  him  with  the  sense  of 
something  by  his  own  act  overlooked,  unappreciated. 
It  gathered  perhaps  a  slightly  sharper  shade  from  the 
mild  formality  of  her  "Good-night,  sir!"  as  she 
passed  him;  a  matter  as  to  which  there  was  now 
nothing  more  to  be  done,  thanks  to  the  alertness  of 
the  young  man  whom  he  by  this  time  had  made  out 
as  even  more  harmless  than  himself.  This  person 
age  had  forestalled  him  in  opening  the  door  for  her 
and  was  evidently — with  a  view,  Densher  might 
have  judged,  to  ulterior  designs  on  Milly — propos 
ing  to  attend  her  to  her  carriage.  What  further 
occurred  was  that  Aunt  Maud,  having  released  her, 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

immediately  had  a  word  for  himself.  It  was  an  im 
perative  "  Wait  a  minute,"  by  which  she  both  de 
tained  and  dismissed  him;  she  was  particular  about 
her  minute,  but  he  had  not  yet  given  her,  as  hap 
pened,  a  sign  of  withdrawal. 

"  Return  to  our  little  friend.  You'll  find  her 
really  interesting." 

"  If  you  mean  Miss  Theale,"  he  said,  "  I  shall 
certainly  not  forget  her.  But  you  must  remember 
that,  so  far  as  her  '  interest '  is  concerned,  I  myself 
discovered,  I — as  was  said  at  dinner — invented 
her." 

"  Well,  one  seemed  rather  to  see  that  you  hadn't 
taken  out  the  patent.  Don't,  I  only  mean,  in  the 
press  of  other  things,  too  much  neglect  her." 

Affected,  surprised,  by  the  coincidence  of  her  ap 
peal  with  Kate's,  he  asked  himself  quickly  if  it 
mightn't  help  him  with  her.  He  at  any  rate  could 
but  try.  :<  You're  all  looking  after  my  manners. 
That's  exactly,  you  know,  what  Miss  Croy  has  been 
saying  to  me.  She  keeps  me  up — she  has  had  so 
much  to  say  about  it." 

He  found  pleasure  in  being  able  to  give  his  hostess 
an  account  of  his  passage  with  Kate  that,  while  quite 
veracious,  might  be  reassuring  to  herself.  But  Aunt 
Maud,  wonderfully  and  facing  him  straight,  took  it 
as  if  her  confidence  were  supplied  with  other  props. 
If  she  saw  his  intention  in  it  she  yet  blinked  neither 
with  doubt  nor  with  acceptance;  she  only  said  im- 
perturbably :  "  Yes,  she'll  herself  do  anything  for  her 

72 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

friend;  so  that  she  but  preaches  what  she  prac 
tises." 

Densher  really  quite  wondered  if  Aunt  Maud 
knew  how  far  Kate's  devotion  went.  He  was  more 
over  a  little  puzzled  by  this  special  harmony;  in  face 
of  which  he  quickly  asked  himself  if  Mrs.  Lowder 
had  bethought  herself  of  the  American  girl  as  a  dis 
traction  for  him,  and  if  Kate's  intensity  were  there 
fore  but  an  appearance  addressed  to  her  aunt.  What 
might  really  become,  in  all  this,  of  the  American  girl 
was  therefore  a  question  that,  on  the  latter  contin 
gency,  would  lose  none  of  its  sharpness.  However, 
questions  could  wait,  and  it  was  easy,  so  far  as  he 
understood,  to  meet  Mrs.  Lowder.  "  It  isn't  a  bit, 
all  the  same,  you  know,  that  I  resist.  I  find  Miss 
Theale  charming." 

Well,  it  was  all  she  wanted.  "  Then  don't  miss  a 
chance." 

"  The  only  thing  is,"  he  went  on,  "  that  she's — 
naturally  now — leaving  town  and,  as  I  take  it,  going 
abroad." 

Aunt  Maud  looked  indeed  an  instant  as  if  she  her 
self  had  been  dealing  with  this  difficulty.  "  She 
won't  go,"  she  smiled  in  spite  of  it,  "  till  she  has  seen 

you.     Moreover,    when    she    does    go "     She 

paused,  leaving  him  uncertain.     But  the  next  minute 
he  was  still  more  at  sea.     "  We  shall  go  too." 

He  gave  a  smile  that  he  himself  felt  as  slightly 
strange.  "  And  what  good  will  that  do  me?  " 

"  We  shall  be  near  them  somewhere,  and  you'll 
come  out  to  us." 

73 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

"  Oh !  "  he  said  a  little  awkwardly. 

"  I'll  see  that  you  do.     I  mean  I'll  write  to  you." 

"  Ah,  thank  you,  thank  you !  "  Merton  Densher 
laughed.  She  was  indeed  putting  him  on  his  hon 
our,  and  his  honour  winced  a  little  at  the  use  he 
rather  helplessly  saw  himself  suffering  her  to  believe 
she  could  make  of  it.  "  There  are  all  sorts  of 
things,"  he  vaguely  remarked,  "  to  consider." 

"  No  doubt.  But  there's  above  all  the  great 
thing." 

"  And,  pray,  what's  that?  " 

"  Why,  the  importance  of  your  not  losing  the  oc 
casion  of  your  life.  I'm  treating  you  handsomely, 
I'm  looking  after  it  for  you.  I  can — I  can  smooth, 
your  path.  She's  charming,  she's  clever  and  she's 
good;  And  her  fortune's  a  real  fortune." 

Ah,  there  she  was,  Aunt  Maud !  The  pieces  fell 
together  for  him  as  he  felt  her  thus  buying  him  off, 
and  buying  him — it  would  have  been  funny  if  it 
hadn't  been  so  grave — with  Miss  Theale's  money. 
He  ventured,  derisive,  fairly  to  treat  it  as  extrava 
gant.  I'm  much  obliged  to  you  for  the  handsome 
offer " 

"  Of  what  doesn't  belong  to  me?  "  She  wasn't 
abashed.  "  I  don't  say  it  does — but  there's  no  rea 
son  it  shouldn't  to  you.  Mind  you,  moreover  " — 
she  kept  it  up — "  I'm  not  one  who  talks  in  the  air. 
And  you  owe  me  something — if  you  want  to  know 
why." 

Distinctly,  he  felt  her  pressure;  he  felt,  given  her 
74 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

basis,  her  consistency;  he  even  felt,  to  a  degree  that 
was  immediately  to  receive  an  odd  confirmation,  her 
truth.  Her  truth,  for  that  matter,  was  that  she  be 
lieved  him  bribeable :  a  belief  that  for  his  own  mind 
as  well  as  they  stood  there,  lighted  up  the  impossi 
ble.  What  then  in  this  light  did  Kate  believe  him? 
But  that  was  not  what  he  asked  aloud.  "  Of  course 
I  know  I  owe  you  thanks  for  a  deal  of  kind 
treatment.  Your  inviting  me,  for  instance,  to 
night !" 

"  Yes,  my  inviting  you  to-night  is  a  part  of  it. 
But  you  don't  know,"  she  added, "  how  far  I've  gone 
for  you." 

He  felt  himself  red,  and  as  if  his  honour  were 
colouring  up;  but  he  laughed  again  as  he  could. 
"  I  see  how  far  you're  going." 

"  I'm  the  most  honest  woman  in  the  world;  but 
I've  nevertheless  done  for  you  what  was  necessary." 
And  then,  as  her  now  quite  sombre  gravity  only 
made  him  stare :  "  To  start  you,  it  was  necessary. 
From  me  it  has  the  weight."  He  but  continued  to 
stare,  and  she  met  his  blankness  with  surprise. 
"  Don't  you  understand  me?  I've  told  the  proper 
lie  for  you."  Still  he  only  showed  her  his  flushed, 
strained  smile;  in  spite  of  which,  speaking  with  force 
and  as  if  he  must  with  a  minute's  reflection  see  what 
she  meant,  she  turned  away  from  him.  "  I  depend 
upon  you  now  to  make  me  right !  " 

The  minute's  reflection  he  was  of  course  more 
free  to  take  after  he  had  left  the  house.  He  walked 

75 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

up  the  Bayswater  Road,  but  he  stopped  short,  under 
the  murky  stars,  before  the  modern  church,  in  the 
middle  of  the  square  that,  going  eastward,  opened 
out  on  his  left.  He  had  had  his  brief  stupidity,  but 
now  he  understood.  She  had  guaranteed  to  Milly 
Theale  through  Mrs.  Stringham  that  Kate  didn't 
care  for  him.  She  had  affirmed  through  the  same 
source  that  the  attachment  was  only  his.  He  made 
it  out,  he  made  it  out,  and  he  could  see  what  she 
meant  by  its  starting  him.  She  had  described  Kate 
as  merely  compassionate,  so  that  Milly  might  be 
compassionate  too.  "  Proper  "  indeed  it  was,  her 
lie — the  very  properest  possible  and  the  most  deep 
ly,  richly  diplomatic.  So  Milly  was  successfully 
deceived. 


XXI 

To  see  her  alone,  the  poor  girl,  he  none  the  less 
promptly  felt,  was  to  see  her  after  all  very  much  on 
the  old  basis,  the  basis  of  his  three  visits  in  New 
York;  the  new  element,  when  once  he  was  again 
face  to  face  with  her,  not  really  amounting  to  much 
more  than  a  recognition,  with  a  little  surprise,  of  the 
positive  extent  of  the  old  basis.  Everything  but 
that,  everything  embarrassing  fell  away  after  he  had 
been  present  five  minutes :  it  was  in  fact  wonderful 
that  their  excellent,  their  pleasant,  their  permitted 
and  proper  and  harmless  American  relation — the 
legitimacy  of  which  he  could  thus  scarce  express  in 
names  enough — should  seem  so  unperturbed  by 
other  matters.  They  had  both  since  then  had  great 
adventures — such  an  adventure  for  him  was  his  men 
tal  annexation  of  her  country;  and  it  was  now,  for 
the  moment,  as  if  the  greatest  of  them  all  were  this 
acquired  consciousness  of  reasons  other  than  those 
that  had  already  served.  Densher  had  asked  for  her, 
at  her  hotel,  the  day  after  Aunt  Maud's  dinner,  with 
a  rich,  that  is  with  a  highly  troubled,  preconception 
of  the  part  likely  to  be  played  for  him  at  present,  in 
any  contact  with  her,  by  Kate's  and  Mrs.  Lowder's 
so  oddly  conjoined  and  so  really  superfluous  at 
tempts  to  make  her  interesting.  She  had  been  in- 

77 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

teresting  enough  without  them — that  appeared  to 
day  to  come  back  to  him;  and,  admirable  and  beauti 
ful  as  was  the  charitable  zeal  of  the  two  ladies,  it 
might  easily  have  nipped  in  the  bud  the  germs  of  a 
friendship  inevitably  limited  but  still  perfectly  work 
able.  What  had  happily  averted  the  need  of  his 
breaking  off,  what  would  as  happily  continue  to 
avert  it,  was  his  own  good  sense  and  good  humour, 
a  certain  spring  of  mind  in  him  which  ministered, 
imagination  aiding,  to  understandings  and  allow 
ances  and  which  he  had  positively  never  felt  such  an 
occasion  as  just  now  to  rejoice  in  the  possession  of. 
Many  men — he  practically  made  the  reflection — 
wouldn't  have  taken  the  matter  that  way,  would  have 
lost  patience,  finding  the  appeal  in  question  irra 
tional,  exorbitant ;  and,  thereby  making  short  work 
with  it,  would  have  let  it  render  any  further  acquaint 
ance  with  Miss  Theale  impossible.  He  had  talked 
with  Kate  of  this  young  woman's  being  "  sacri 
ficed,"  and  that  would  have  been  one  way,  so  far  as 
he  was  concerned,  to  sacrifice  her.  Such,  however, 
had  not  been  the  tune  to  which  his  at  first  bewildered 
view  had,  since  the  night  before,  cleared  itself  up. 
It  wasn't  so  much  that  he  failed  of  being  the  kind 
of  man  who  "  chucked,"  for  he  knew  himself  as  the 
kind  of  man  intelligent  enough  to  recognise  the 
cases  in  which  chucking  might  be  the  minor  evil  and 
the  least  cruelty.  It  was  that  he  liked  too  much 
everyone  concerned  willingly  to  show  himself  mere 
ly  impracticable.  He  liked  Kate,  goodness  knew, 

78 


» 

THE   WINGS   OF  THE   DOVE 

and  he  also,  clearly  enough,  liked  Mrs.  Lowder. 
He  liked  in  particular  Milly  herself;  and  hadn't  it 
come  up  for  him  the  evening  before  that  he  quite 
liked  even  Susan  Shepherd?  He  had  never  known 
himself  so  generally  merciful.  It  was  a  footing,  at 
all  events,  whatever  accounted  for  it,  on  which  he 
would  surely  be  rather  a  muff  not  to  manage  on  one 
line  or  another  to  escape  disobliging.  Should  he 
find  he  couldn't  work  it  there  would  still  be  time 
enough.  The  idea  of  working  it  crystallised  before 
him  in  such  guise  as  not  only  to  promise  much  in 
terest — fairly,  in  case  of  success,  much  excitement; 
but  positively  to  impart  to  failure  an  appearance  of 
barbarity. 

Arriving  thus  in  Brook  Street  both  with  the  best 
intentions  and  with  a  margin  consciously  left  for 
some  primary  awkwardness,  he  found  his  burden,  to 
his  great  relief,  unexpectedly  light.  The  awkward 
ness  involved  in  the  responsibility  so  newly  and  so 
ingeniously  traced  for  him  turned  round  on  the  spot 
to  present  him  another  face.  This  was  simply  the 
face  of  his  old  impression,  which  he  now  fully  recov 
ered — the  impression  that  American  girls,  when, 
rare  case,  they  were  as  charming  as  Milly,  were 
clearly  the  easiest  people  in  the  world.  Had  what 
had  happened  been  that  this  specimen  of  the  class 
was  from  the  first  so  committed  to  ease  that  nothing 
subsequent  could  ever  make  her  difficult?  This 
affected  him  now  as  still  more  probable  than  on  the 
occasion  of  the  hour  or  two  lately  passed  with  her 

79 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

in  Kate's  society.  Milly  Theale  had  recognised  no 
complication,  to  Densher's  view,  while  bringing  him, 
with  his  companion,  from  the  National  Gallery  and 
entertaining  them  at  luncheon;  it  need  therefore 
scarce  be  supposed  that  complications  had  become 
so  soon  too  much  for  her.  His  pretext  for  present 
ing  himself  was  fortunately  of  the  best  and  simplest; 
the  least  he  could  decently  do,  given  their  happy  ac 
quaintance,  was  to  call  with  an  inquiry  after  learning 
that  she  had  been  prevented  by  illness  from  meeting 
him  at  dinner.  And  then  there  was  the  beautiful  ac 
cident  of  her  other  demonstration;  he  must  at  any 
( rate  have  given  a  sign  as  a  sequel  to  the  hospitality 
he  had  shared  with  Kate.  Well,  he  was  giving  one 
now — such  as  it  was;  he  was  finding  her,  to  begin 
with,  accessible,  and  very  naturally  and  prettily  glad 
to  see  him.  He  had  come,  after  luncheon,  early, 
though  not  so  early  but  that  she  might  already  be 
out  if  she  were  well  enough;  and  she  was  well 
enough  and  yet  was  still  at  home.  He  had  an  inner 
glimpse,  with  this,  of  the  comment  Kate  would  have 
made  on  it :  it  was  not  absent  from  his  thought  that 
Milly  would  have  been  at  home  by  her  account  be 
cause  expecting,  after  a  talk  with  Mrs.  Stringham, 
that  a  certain  person  might  turn  up.  He  even — so 
pleasantly  did  things  go — enjoyed  freedom  of  mind 
to  welcome,  on  that  supposition,  a  fresh  sign  of  the 
beautiful  hypocrisy  of  women.  He  went  so  far  as 
to  enjoy  believing  the  girl  might  have  stayed  in  for 
him;  it  helped  him  to  enjoy  her  behaving  as  if 

80 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

she  hadn't.  She  expressed,  that  is,  exactly  the  right 
degree  of  surprise;  she  didn't  a  bit  overdo  it:  the 
lesson  of  which  was,  perceptibly,  that,  so  far  as  his 
late  lights  had  opened  the  door  to  any  want  of 
the  natural  in  their  meetings,  he  might  trust 
her  to  take  care  of  it  for  him  as  well  as  for 
herself. 

She  had  begun  this,  admirably,  on  his  entrance, 
with  her  turning  away  from  the  table  at  which  she 
had  apparently  been  engaged  in  letter-writing;  it 
was  the  very  possibility  of  his  betraying  a  concern 
for  her  as  one  of  the  afflicted  that  she  had  within  the 
first  minute  conjured  away.  She  was  never,  never — 
did  he  understand? — to  be  one  of  the  afflicted  for 
him;  and  the  manner  in  which  he  understood  it, 
something  of  the  answering  pleasure  that  he  couldn't 
help  knowing  he  showed,  constituted,  he  was  very 
soon  after  to  acknowledge,  something  like  a  start 
for  intimacy.  When  things  like  that  could  pass, 
people  had  in  truth  to  be  equally  conscious  of  a  rela 
tion.  It  soon  made  one,  at  all  events,  when  it  didn't 
find  one  made.  She  had  let  him  ask — there  had 
been  time  for  that,  his  allusion  to  her  friend's  explan 
atory  arrival  at  Lancaster  Gate  without  her  being 
inevitable;  but  she  had  blown  away,  and  quite  as 
much  with  the  look  in  her  eyes  as  with  the  smile  on 
her  lips,  every  ground  for  anxiety  and  every  chance 
for  insistence.  How  was  she? — why,  she  was  as  he 
thus  saw  her  and  as  she  had  reasons  of  her  own,  the 
business  of  nobody  else,  for  desiring  to  appear. 

VOL.  II.— 6  8 1 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

Kate's  account  of  her  as  too  proud  for  pity,  as  fierce 
ly  shy  about  so  personal  a  secret,  came  back  to  him; 
so  that  he  rejoiced  he  could  take  a  hint,  especially 
when  he  wanted  to.  The  question  the  girl  had 
quickly  disposed  of — "  Oh,  it  was  nothing :  I'm  all 
right,  thank  you !  " — was  one  he  was  glad  enough 
to  be  able  to  banish.  It  was  not  at  all,  in  spite  of 
the  appeal  Kate  had  made  to  him  on  it,  his  affair; 
for  his  interest  had  been  invoked  in  the  name  of  com 
passion,  and  the  name  of  compassion  was  exactly 
what  he  felt  himself  at  the  end  of  two  minutes  for 
bidden  so  much  as  to  whisper.  He  had  been  sent 
to  see  her  in  order  to  be  sorry  for  her,  and  how  sorry 
he  might  be,  quite  privately,  he  was  yet  to  make  out. 
Didn't  that  signify,  however,  almost  not  at  all? — 
inasmuch  as,  whatever  his  upshot,  he  was  never  to  let 
her  know  it.  Thus  the  ground  was  unexpectedly 
cleared;  though  it  was  not  till  a  slightly  longer  time 
had  passed  that  he  made  sure,  at  first  with  amuse 
ment  and  then  with  a  sort  of  respect,  of  what  had 
most  operated.  Extraordinarily,  quite  amazingly, 
he  began  to  see  that  if  his  pity  hadn't  had  to  yield  to 
still  other  things  it  would  have  had  to  yield  quite 
definitely  to  her  own.  That  was  the  way  the  case 
had  turned  round :  he  had  made  his  visit  to  be  sorry 
for  her,  but  he  would  repeat  it — if  he  did  repeat  it — 
in  order  that  she  might  be  sorry  for  him.  His  situa 
tion  made  him,  she  judged — when  once  one  liked 
him — a  subject  for  that  tenderness :  he  felt  this  judg 
ment  in  her,  and  felt  it  as  something  he  should  really, 

82 


THE   WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

in  decency,  in  dignity,  in  common  honesty,  have  very 
soon  to  reckon  with. 

Odd  enough  was  it  certainly  that  the  question 
originally  before  him,  the  question  placed  there  by 
Kate,  should  so  of  a  sudden  find  itself  quite  dis 
lodged  by  another.  This  other,  it  was  easy  to  see, 
came  straight  up  with  the  fact  of  her  beautiful  delu 
sion  and  her  wasted  charity;  the  whole  thing  pre 
paring  for  him  as  pretty  a  case  of  conscience  as  he 
could  have  desired,  and  one  at  the  prospect  of  which 
he  was  already  wincing.  If  he  was  interesting  it  was 
because  he  was  unhappy;  and  if  he  was  unhappy,  it 
was  because  his  passion  for  Kate  had  spent  itself  in 
vain ;  and  if  Kate  was  indifferent,  inexorable,  it  was 
because  she  had  left  Milly  in  no  doubt  of  it.  That, 
above  all,  was  what  came  up  for  him — how  clear  an 
impression  of  this  attitude,  how  definite  an  account 
of  his  own  failure,  Kate  must  have  given  her  friend. 
His  immediate  quarter  of  an  hour  there  with  the  girl 
lighted  up  for  him  almost  luridly  such  an  inference; 
it  was  almost  as  if  the  other  party  to  their  remarka 
ble  understanding  had  been  with  them  as  they  talked, 
had  been  hovering  about,  had  dropped  in,  to  look 
after  her  work.  The  value  of  the  work  affected  him 
as  different  from  the  moment  he  saw  it  so  expressed 
in  poor  Milly.  Since  it  was  false  that  he  wasn't 
loved,  so  his  right  was  quite  quenched  to  figure  on 
that  ground  as  important;  and  if  he  didn't  look  out 
he  would  find  himself  liking  in  a  way  quite  at  odds 
with  straightness  the  good  faith  of  Milly's  benevo- 

83 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

lence.  There  was  the  place  for  scruples;  there  the 
need,  absolutely,  to  mind  what  he  was  about.  If  it 
wasn't  proper  for  him  to  enjoy  consideration  on  a 
perfectly  false  footing,  where  was  the  guarantee 
that,  if  he  kept  on,  he  wouldn't  himself  pretend  to 
the  grievance  in  order  not  to  miss  the  sweet?  Con 
sideration — from  a  charming  girl — was  soothing  on 
whatever  theory;  and  it  didn't  take  him  far  to  re 
member  that  he  had  himself  as  yet  done  nothing 
deceptive.  It  was  Kate's  description  of  him,  his 
defeated  state,  it  was  none  of  his  own;  his  responsi 
bility  would  begin,  as  he  might  say,  only  with  acting 
it  out.  The  sharp  point  was,  however,  in  the  differ 
ence  between  acting  and  not  acting;  this  difference 
in  fact  it  was  that  made  the  case  of  conscience.  He 
saw  it  with  a  certain  alarm  rise  before  him  that  every 
thing  was  acting  that  was  not  speaking  the  particu 
lar  word.  "  If  you  like  me  because  you  think  she 
doesn't,  it  isn't  a  bit  true :  she  does  like  me,  awful 
ly!" — that  would  have  been  the  particular  word; 
which,  at  the  same  time,  but  too  palpably,  there 
were  difficulties  about  one's  uttering.  Wouldn't 
it  be  as  indelicate,  in  a  way,  to  challenge  her  as  to 
leave  her  deluded? — and  this  quite  apart  from  the 
exposure,  so  to  speak,  of  Kate,  as  to  whom  it  would 
constitute  a  kind  of  betrayal.  Kate's  design  was 
something  so  extraordinarily  special  to  Kate  that 
he  felt  himself  shrink  from  the  complications  in 
volved  in  judging  it.  Not  to  give  away  the  woman 
one  loved,  but  to  back  her  up  in  her  mistakes — once 

84 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

they  had  gone  a  certain  length — that  was  perhaps 
chief  among  the  inevitabilities  of  the  abjection  of 
love.  Loyalty  was,  of  course,  sovereignty  pre 
scribed  in  presence  of  any  design  on  her  part,  how 
ever  roundabout,  to  do  one  nothing  but  good. 

Densher  had  quite  to  steady  himself  not  to  be 
awestruck  at  the  immensity  of  the  good  his  own 
friend  must  on  all  this  evidence  have  wanted  to  do 
him.  Of  one  thing  indeed  meanwhile  he  was  sure : 
Milly  Theale  wouldn't  herself  precipitate  his  neces 
sity  of  intervention.  She  would  absolutely  never 
say  to  him :  "  Is  it  so  impossible  she  shall  ever  care 
for  you  seriously?  " — without  which  nothing  could 
well  be  less  delicate  than  for  him  aggressively  to  set 
her  right.  Kate  would  be  free  to  do  that  if  Kate, 
in  some  prudence,  some  contrition,  for  some  better 
reason  in  fine,  should  revise  her  plan;  but  he  asked 
himself  what,  failing  this,  he  could  do  that  wouldn't 
be,  after  all,  more  gross  than  doing  nothing.  This 
brought  him  round  again  to  the  acceptance  of  the 
fact  that  the  poor  girl  liked  him.  She  put  it,  for 
reasons  of  her  own,  on  a  simple,  a  beautiful  ground, 
a  ground  that  already  supplied  her  with  the  pretext 
she  required.  The  ground  was  there,  that  is,  in  the 
impression  she  had  received,  retained,  cherished; 
the  pretext,  over  and  above  it,  was  the  pretext  for 
acting  on  it.  That  she  now  believed  as  she  did  made 
her  sure  at  last  that  she  might  act;  so  that  what 
Densher  therefore  would  have  struck  at  would  be 
the  root,  in  her  soul,  of  a  pure  pleasure.  It  posi- 

85 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

lively  lifted  its  head  and  flowered,  this  pure  pleas 
ure,  while  the  young  man  now  sat  with  her,  and 
there  were  things  she  seemed  to  say  that  took  the 
words  out  of  his  mouth.  These  were  not  all  the 
things  she  did  say;  they  were  rather  what  such 
things  meant  in  the  light  of  what  he  knew.  Her 
warning  him  for  instance  off  the  question  of  how 
she  was,  the  quick,  brave  little  art  with  which  she 
did  that,  represented  to  his  fancy  a  truth  she  didn't 
utter.  "  I'm  well  for  you — that's  all  you  have  to 
do  with  or  need  trouble  about :  I  shall  never  be  any 
thing  so  horrid  as  ill  for  you.  So  there  you  are; 
worry  about  me,  spare  me,  please,  as  little  as  you 
can.  Don't  be  afraid,  in  short,  to  ignore  my  '  in 
teresting  '  side.  It  isn't,  you  see,  even  now  while 
you  sit  here,  that  there  are  not  lots  of  others.  Only 
do  them  justice  and  we  shall  get  on  beautifully." 
This  was  what  w<as  folded  finely  up  in  her  talk — 
all  quite  ostensibly  about  her  impressions  and  her 
intentions.  She  tried  to  put  Densher  again  on  his 
American  doings,  but  he  wouldn't  have  that  to-day. 
As  he  thought  of  the  way  in  which,  the  other  after 
noon,  before  Kate,  he  had  sat  complacently  "  jaw 
ing,"  he  accused  himself  of  excess,  of  having  over 
done  it,  made — at  least  apparently — more  of  a 
"  set  "  at  his  interlocutress  than  he  was  at  all  events 
then  intending.  He  turned  the  tables,  drawing  her 
out  about  London,  about  her  vision  of  life  there, 
and  only  too  glad  to  treat  her  as  a  person  with  whom 
he  could  easily  have  other  topics  than  her  aches  and 

86 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

pains.  He  spoke  to  her,  above  all,  of  the  evidence 
offered  him  at  Lancaster  Gate  that  she  had  come 
but  to  conquer;  and  when  she  had  met  this  with  full 
and  gay  assent — "  How  could  I  help  being  the  feat 
ure  of  the  season,  the  what-do-you-call-it,  the  theme 
of  every  tongue?  "• — they  fraternised  freely  over  all 
that  had  come  and  gone  for  each  since  their  inter 
rupted  encounter  in  New  York. 

At  the  same  time,  while  many  things,  in  quick 
succession,  came  up  for  them,  came  up  in  particular 
for  Derisher,  nothing  perhaps  was  just  so  sharp  as 
the  odd  influence  of  their  present  conditions  on  their 
view  of  their  past  ones.  It  was  as  if  they  hadn't 
known  how  "  thick  "  they  had  originally  become, 
as  if,  in  a  manner,  they  had  really  fallen  to  remem 
bering  more  passages  of  intimacy  than  there  had  in 
fact  at  the  time  quite  been  room  for.  They  were 
in  a  relation  now,  whether  from  what  they  said  or 
from  what  they  didn't  say,  so  complicated  that  it 
might  have  been  seeking  to  justify  its  speedy  growth 
by  reaching  back  to  one  of  those  fabulous  periods 
in  which  prosperous  states  place  their  beginnings. 
He  recalled  what  had  been  said  at  Mrs.  Lowder's 
about  the  steps  and  stages,  in  people's  careers,  that 
absence  caused  one  to  miss,  and  about  the  resulting 
frequent  sense  of  meeting  them  further  on;  which, 
with  some  other  matters  also  recalled,  he  took  oc 
casion  to  communicate  to  Milly.  The  matters  he 
couldn't  mention  mingled  themselves  with  those  he 
did;  so  that  it  would  doubtless  have  been  hard  to 

37 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

Say  which  of  the  two  groups  now  played  most  of  a 
part.  He  was  kept  face  to  face  with  this  young  lady 
by  a  force  absolutely  resident  in  their  situation  and 
operating,  for  his  nerves,  with  the  swiftness  of  the 
forces  commonly  regarded  by  sensitive  persons  as 
beyond  their  control.  The  current  thus  determined 
had  positively  become  for  him,  by  the  time  he  had 
been  ten  minutes  in  the  room,  something  that,  but 
for  the  absurdity  of  comparing  the  very  small  with 
the  very  great,  he  would  freely  have  likened  to  the 
rapids  of  Niagara.  An  uncriticised  acquaintance 
between  a  clever  young  man  and  a  responsive  young 
woman  could  do  nothing  more,  at  the  most,  than 
go,  and  his  actual  experiment  went  and  went  and 
went.  Nothing  probably  so  conduced  to  make  it 
go  as  the  marked  circumstance  that  they  had  spoken 
all  the  while  not  a  word  about  Kate;  and  this  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that,  if  it  were  a  question  for  them 
of  what  had  occurred  in  the  past  weeks,  nothing  had 
occurred  comparable  to  Kate's  predominance. 
Densher  had  but  the  night  before  appealed  to  her 
for  instruction  as  to  what  he  must  do  about  her; 
but  he  fairly  winced  to  find  how  little  this  came  to. 
She  had  told  him  of  course  how  little;  but  it  was  a 
truth  that  looked  different  when  shown  him  by 
Milly.  It  proved  to  him  that  the  latter  had  in  fact 
been  dealt  with,  but  it  produced  in  him  the  thought 
that  Kate  might  perhaps  again  conveniently  be 
questioned.  He  would  have  liked  to  speak  to  her 
before  going  further  —  to  make  sure  she  really 

88 


THE  WINGS   OF  THE   DOVE 

meant  him  to  succeed  quite  so  much.  With  all  the 
difference  that,  as  we  say,  came  up  for  him,  it  came 
up  afresh,  naturally,  that  he  might  make  his  visit 
brief  and  never  renew  it;  yet  the  strangest  thing  of 
all  was  that  the  argument  against  that  issue  would 
have  sprung  precisely  from  the  beautiful  little  elo 
quence  involved  in  Milly's  avoidances. 

Precipitate  these  well  might  be,  since  they  em 
phasised  the  fact  that  she  was  proceeding  in  the 
sense  of  the  assurances  she  had  taken.  Over  the 
latter  she  had  visibly  not  hesitated,  for  hadn't  they 
had  the  merit  of  giving  her  a  chance?  Densher 
quite  saw  her,  felt  her  take  it;  the  chance,  neither 
more  nor  less,  of  helping  him  according  to  her  free 
dom.  It  was  what  Kate  had  left  her  with :  "  Lis 
ten  to  him,  I?  Never !  So  do  as  you  like."  What 
Milly  "  liked  "  was  to  do,  it  thus  appeared,  as  she 
was  doing:  our  young  man's  glimpse  of  which  was 
just  what  would  have  been  for  him  not  less  a  glimpse 
of  the  peculiar  brutality  of  shaking  her  off.  The 
choice  exhaled  its  shy  fragrance  of  heroism,  for  it 
was  not  aided  by  any  question  of  parting  with  Kate. 
She  would  be  charming  to  Kate  as  well  as  to  Kate's 
adorer;  she  would  incur  whatever  pain  could  dwell 
for  her  in  the  sight — should  she  continue  to  be  ex 
posed  to  the  sight — of  the  adorer  thrown  with  the 
adored.  It  wouldn't  really  have  taken  much  more 
to  make  him  wonder  if  he  hadn't  before  him  one  of 
those  rare  cases  of  exaltation — food  for  fiction,  food 
for  poetry  —  in  which  a  man's  fortune  with  the 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

woman  who  doesn't  care  for  him  is  positively  pro 
moted  by  the  woman  who  does.  It  was  as  if  Milly 
had  said  to  herself :  "  Well,  he  can  at  least  meet  her 
in  my  society,  if  that's  anything  to  him;  so  that  my 
line  can  only  be  to  make  my  society  attractive." 
She  certainly  couldn't  have  made  a  different  impres 
sion  if  she  had  so  reasoned.  All  of  which,  none  the 
less,  didn't  prevent  his  soon  enough  saying  to 
her,  quite  as  if  she  were  to  be  whirled  into 
space:  "And  now,  then,  what  becomes  of  you? 
Do  you  begin  to  rush  about  on  visits  to  country- 
houses?  " 

She  disowned  the  idea  with  a  headshake  that,  put 
on  what  face  she  would,  couldn't  help  betraying  to 
him  something  of  her  suppressed  view  of  the  pos 
sibility — ever,  ever  perhaps — of  any  such  proceed 
ings.  They  weren't,  at  any  rate,  for  her  now. 
"  Dear  no — we  go  abroad — for  a  few  weeks,  some 
where,  of  high  air.  That  has  been  before  us  for 
many  days;  we've  only  been  kept  on  by  last  necessi 
ties  here.  However,  everything's  done,  and  the 
wind's  in  our  sails." 

"  May  you  scud  then  happily  before  it !  But 
when,"  he  asked,  "  do  you  come  back?  " 

She  looked  ever  so  vague;  then  as  if  to  correct 
it :  "  Oh,  when  the  wind  turns.  And  what  do  you 
do  with  your  summer?  " 

"  Ah,  I  spend  it  in  sordid  toil.  I  drench  it  with 
mercenary  ink.  My  work  in  your  country  counts 
for  play  as  well.  You  see  what's  thought  of  the 

90 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

pleasure  your  country  can  give.  My  holiday's 
over." 

"  I'm  sorry  you  had  to  take  it,"  said  Milly,  "  at 
such  a  different  time  from  ours.  If  you  could  but 
have  worked  while  we've  been  working " 

"  I  might  be  playing  while  you  play?  Oh,  the 
distinction  isn't  so  great  with  me.  There's  a  little 
of  each  for  me,  of  work  and  of  play,  in  either.  But 
you  and  Mrs.  Stringham,  with  Miss  Croy  and  Mrs. 
Lowder — you  all,"  he  went  on,  kk  have  been  given 
up,  like  navvies  or  niggers,  to  real  physical  toil. 
Your  rest  is  something  you've  earned  and  you  need. 
My  labour's  comparatively  light." 

"  Very  true,"  she  smiled;  "  but,  all  the  same,  I 
like  mine." 

"  It  doesn't  leave  you  spent?  " 

"  Not  a  bit.  I  don't  get  tired  when  I'm  inter 
ested.  Oh,  I  could  go  far." 

He  bethought  himself.  "Then  why  don't  you? 
— since  you've  got  here,  as  I  learn,  the  whole  place 
in  your  pocket." 

"  Well,  it's  a  kind  of  economy — I'm  saving  things 
up.  I've  enjoyed  so  what  you  speak  of — though 
your  account  of  it's  fantastic — that  I'm  watching 
over  its  future,  that  I  can't  help  being  anxious  and 
careful.  I  want — in  the  interest  itself  of  what  I've 
had,  and  may  still  have — not  to  make  any  mistakes. 
The  way  not  to  make  them  is  to  get  off  again  to  a 
distance  and  see  the  situation  from  there.  I  shall 
keep  it  fresh,"  she  wound  up  as  if  herself  rather 

91 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

pleased  with  the  ingenuity  of  her  statement — "  I 
shall  keep  it  fresh,  by  that  prudence,  for  my  return. " 

"Ah,  then,  you  will  return?  Can  you  promise 
one  that?  " 

Her  face  fairly  lighted  at  his  asking  for  a  promise; 
but  she  made  as  if  bargaining  a  little.  "  Isn't  Lon 
don  rather  awful  in  winter?  " 

He  had  been  going  to  ask  her  if  she  meant  for 
the  invalid;  but  he  checked  the  infelicity  of  this  and 
took  the  inquiry  as  referring  to  social  life.  "  No — 
I  like  it,  with  one  thing  and  another;  it's  less  of  a 
mob  than  later  on;  and  it  would  have  for  us  the 
merit — should  you  come  here  then — that  we  should 
probably  see  more  of  you.  So  do  reappear  for  us — 
if  it  isn't  a  question  of  climate." 

She  looked  at  that  a  little  graver.  "  If  what  isn't 
a  question ?  " 

"  Why,  the  determination  of  your  movements. 
You  spoke  just  now  of  going  somewhere  for  that." 

"  For  better  air?  " — she  remembered.  "  Oh  yes, 
one  certainly  wants  to  get  out  of  London  in  Au- 
gust." 

"  Rather,  of  course !  "  —  he  fully  understood. 
"  Though  I'm  glad  you've  hung  on  long  enough  for 
me  to  catch  you.  Try  us,  at  any  rate,"  he  con 
tinued,  "  once  more." 

"  Whom  do  you  mean  by  '  us  '?  "  she  presently 
asked. 

It  pulled  him  up  an  instant — representing,  as  he 
saw  it  might  have  seemed,  an  allusion  to  himself  as 

92 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

conjoined  with  Kate,  whom  he  was  proposing  not 
to  mention  any  more  than  his  hostess  did.  But  the 
issue  was  easy.  "  I  mean  all  of  us  together,  every 
one  you'll  find  ready  to  surround  you  with  sym 
pathy." 

It  made  her,  none  the  less,  in  her  odd,  charming 
way,  challenge  him  afresh.  "  Why  do  you  say 
sympathy?  " 

"  Well,  it  is  doubtless,  a  pale  word.  What  we 
shall  feel  for  you  will  be  much  nearer  worship." 

"  As  near  then  as  you  like !  "  With  which  at  last 
Kate's  name  was  sounded.  "  The  people  I'd  most 
come  back  for  are  the  people  you  know.  I'd  do  it 
for  Mrs.  Lowder,  who  has  been  beautifully  kind  to 
me." 

"  So  she  has  to  me,"  said  Densher.  "  I  feel,"  he 
added  as  she  at  first  answered  nothing,  "  that,  quite 
contrary  to  anything  I  originally  expected,  I've 
made  a  good  friend  of  her." 

"  7  didn't  expect  it  either — its  turning  out  as  it 
has.  But  I  did,"  said  Milly,  "  with  Kate.  I  shall 
come  back  for  her  too.  I'd  do  anything  " — she 
kept  it  up — "  for  Kate." 

Looking  at  him  as  with  conscious  clearness  while 
she  spoke,  she  might  for  the  moment  have  effective 
ly  laid  a  trap  for  whatever  remains  of  the  ideal 
straightness  in  him  were  still  able  to  pull  themselves 
together  and  operate.  He  was  afterwards  to  say  to 
himself  that  something  had  at  that  moment  hung 
for  him  by  a  hair.  "  Oh,  I  know  what  one  would 

93 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

do  for  Kate !  " — it  had  hung  for  him  by  a  hair  to 
break  out  with  that,  which  he  felt  he  had  really  been 
kept  from  by  an  element  in  his  consciousness 
stronger  still.  The  proof  of  the  truth  in  question 
was  precisely  in  his  silence;  resisting  the  impulse  to 
break  out  was  what  he  was  doing  for  Kate.  This 
at  the  time  moreover  came  and  went  quickly 
enough;  he  was  trying  the  next  minute  but  to  make 
Milly's  allusion  easy  for  herself.  "  Of  course  I 
know  what  friends  you  are — and  of  course  I  under 
stand,"  he  permitted  himself  to  add,  "  any  amount 
of  devotion  to  a  person  so  charming.  That's  the 
good  turn  then  she'll  do  us  all — I  mean  her  working 
for  your  return." 

"  Oh,  you  don't  know,"  said  Milly,  "  how  much 
I'm  really  on  her  hands." 

He  could  but  accept  the  appearance  of  wondering 
how  much  he  might  show  he  knew.  "  Ah,  she's 
very  masterful." 

"  She's  great.     Yet  I  don't  say  she  bullies  me." 

"  No — that's  not  the  way.  At  any  rate  it  isn't 
hers,"  he  smiled.  He  remembered,  however,  then 
that  an  undue  acquaintance  with  Kate's  ways  \vas 
just  what  he  mustn't  show;  and  he  pursued  the  sub 
ject  no  further  than  to  remark  with  a  good  intention 
that  had  the  further  merit  of  representing  a  truth: 
"  I  don't  feel  as  if  I  knew  her — really  to  call  know." 

"  Well,  if  you  come  to  that,  I  don't  either!  "  she 
laughed.  The  words  gave  him,  as  soon  as  they 
were  uttered,  a  sense  of  responsibility  for  his  own; 

94 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

though  during  a  silence  that  ensued  for  a  minute  he 
had  time  to  recognise  that  his  own  contained,  after 
all,  no  element  of  falsity.  Strange  enough  there 
fore  was  it  that  he  could  go  too  far — if  it:  was  too 
far — without  being  false.  His  observation  was  one 
he  would  perfectly  have  made  to  Kate  herself.  And 
before  he  again  spoke,  and  before  Milly  did,  he  took 
time  for  more  still — for  feeling  that  just  here  it  was 
that  he  must  break  short  off  if  his  mind  was  really 
made  up  not  to  go  further.  It  was  as  if  he  had  been 
at  a  corner — and  fairly  put  there  by  his  last  speech; 
so  that  it  depended  on  him  whether  or  no  to  turn  it. 
The  silence  if  prolonged  but  an  instant  might  even 
have  given  him  a  sense  of  her  waiting  to  see  what 
he  would  do.  It  was  filled  for  them,  the  next  thing, 
by  the  sound,  rather  voluminous  for  the  August 
afternoon,  of  the  approach,  in  the  street  below  them, 
of  heavy  carriage-wheels  and  of  horses  trained  to 
"  step."  A  rumble,  a  great  shake,  a  considerable 
effective  clatter,  had  been  apparently  succeeded  by 
a  pause  at  the  door  of  the  hotel,  which  was  in  turn 
accompanied  by  a  due  proportion  of  diminished 
prancing  and  stamping.  "  You've  a  visitor,"  Den- 
sher  laughed,  "  and  it  must  be  at  least  an  ambas 
sador." 

"  It's  only  my  own  carriage;  it  does  that — isn't  it 
wonderful?  —  every  day.  But  we  find  it,  Mrs. 
Stringham  and  I,  in  the  innocence  of  our  hearts, 
very  amusing."  She  had  got  up,  as  she  spoke,  to 
assure  herself  of  what  she  said;  and  at  the  end  of  a 

95 


THE   WINGS    OF   THE   DOVE 

few  steps  they  were  together  on  the  balcony  and 
looking  down  at  her  waiting  chariot,  which  made 
indeed  a  brave  show.  "  Is  it  very  awful?  " 

It  was  to  Densher's  eyes — save  for  its  absurd 
heaviness — only  pleasantly  pompous.  "  It  seems  to 
me  delightfully  rococo.  But  how  do  I  know? 
You're  mistress  of  these  things,  in  contact  with  the 
highest  wisdom.  You  occupy  a  position,  moreover, 
thanks  to  which  your  carriage — well,  by  this  time, 
in  the  eye  of  London,  also  occupies  one."  But  she 
was  going  out,  and  he  mustn't  stand  in  her  way. 
What  had  happened  the  next  minute  was,  first,  that 
she  had  denied  she  was  going  out,  so  that  he  might 
prolong  his  stay;  and  second,  that  she  had  said  she 
would  go  out  with  pleasure  if  he  would  like  to  drive 
— that  in  fact  there  were  always  things  to  do,  that 
there  had  been  a  question  for  her  to-day  of  several 
in  particular,  and  that  this,  in  short,  was  why  the 
carriage  had  been  ordered  so  early.  They  per 
ceived,  as  she  said  these  things,  that  an  inquirer  had 
presented  himself,  and,  coming  back,  they  found 
Milly's  servant  announcing  the  carriage  and  pre 
pared  to  accompany  her.  This  appeared  to  have  for 
her  the  effect  of  settling  the  matter — on  the  basis, 
that  is,  of  Densher's  happy  response.  Densher's 
happy  response,  however,  had  as  yet  hung  fire,  the 
process  we  have  described  in  him  operating  by  this 
time  with  extreme  intensity.  The  system  of  not 
pulling  up,  not  breaking  off,  had  already  brought 
him  headlong,  he  seemed  to  feel,  to  where  they  actu- 

96 


THE   WINGS  OF   THE  DOVE 

ally  stood;  and  just  now  it  was,  with  a  vengeance, 
that  he  must  do  either  one  thing  or  the  other.  He 
had  been  waiting  for  some  moments,  which  prob 
ably  seemed  to  him  longer  than  they  were ;  this  was 
because  he  was  anxiously  watching  himself  wait. 
He  couldn't  keep  that  up  for  ever;  and  since  one 
thing  or  the  other  was  what  he  must  do,  it  was  for 
the  other  that  he  presently  became  conscious  of  hav 
ing  decided.  If  he  had  been  drifting  it  settled  itself 
in  the  manner  of  a  bump,  of  considerable  violence, 
against  a  firm  object  in  the  stream.  "  Oh  yes;  I'll 
go  with  you  with  pleasure.  It's  a  charming  idea." 

She  gave  no  look  to  thank  him — she  rather  looked 
away;  she  only  said  at  once  to  her  servant,  "  In  ten 
minutes  " ;  and  then  to  her  visitor,  as  the  man  went 
out,  "  We'll  go  somewhere — I  shall  like  that.  But 
I  must  ask  of  you  time — as  little  as  possible — to  get 
ready."  She  looked  over  the  room  to  provide  for 
him,  keep  him  there.  "  There  are  books  and  things 
— plenty ;  and  I  dress  very  quickly."  He  caught  her 
eyes  only  as  she  went,  on  which  he  thought  them 
pretty  and  touching. 

Why  especially  touching  at  that  instant  he  could 
certainly  scarce  have  said;  it  was  involved,  it  was 
lost  in  the  sense  of  her  wishing  to  oblige  him.  Clear 
ly  what  had  occurred  was  her  having  wished  it  so 
that  she  had  made  him  simply  wish,  in  civil  acknowl 
edgment,  to  oblige  her;  which  he  had  now  fully  done, 
by  turning  his  corner.  He  was  quite  round  it,  his 
corner,  by  the  time  the  door  had  closed  upon  her  and 

VOL.  II.-7  97 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE   DOVE 

he  stood  there  alone.  Alone  he  remained  for  three 
minutes  more — remained  with  several  very  living 
little  matters  to  think  about.  One  of  these  was  the 
phenomenon — typical,  highly  American,  he  would 
have  said — of  Milly's  extreme  spontaneity.  It  was 
perhaps  rather  as  if  he  had  sought  refuge — refuge 
from  another  question — in  the  almost  exclusive 
contemplation  of  this.  Yet  this,  in  its  way,  led  him 
nowhere;  not  even  to  a  sound  generalisation  about 
American  girls.  It  was  spontaneous  for  his  young 
friend  to  have  asked  him  to  drive  with  her  alone — 
since  she  hadn't  mentioned  her  companion;  but  she 
struck  him,  after  all,  as  no  more  advanced  in  doing 
it  than  Kate,  for  instance,  who  was  not  an  American 
girl,  might  have  struck  him  in  not  doing  it.  Be 
sides,  Kate  would  have  done  it,  though  Kate  wasn't 
at  all,  in  the  same  sense  as  Milly,  spontaneous.  And 
then,  in  addition,  Kate  had  done  it — or  things  very 
much  like  it.  Furthermore,  he  was  engaged  to  Kate 
— even  if  his  ostensibly  not  being  put  her  public  free 
dom  on  other  grounds.  On  all  grounds,  at  any  rate, 
the  relation  between  Kate  and  freedom,  between 
freedom  and  Kate,  was  a  different  one  from  any  he 
could  associate,  as  to  anything,  with  the  girl  who 
had  just  left  him  to  prepare  to  give  herself  up  to  him. 
It  had  never  struck  him  before,  and  he  moved  about 
the  room  while  he  thought  of  it,  touching  none  of 
the  books  placed  at  his  disposal.  Milly  was  for 
ward,  as  might  be  said,  but  not  advanced;  where 
as  Kate  was  backward — backward  still,  compara- 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

tively,  as  an  English  girl — and  yet  advanced  in  a 
high  degree.  However — though  this  didn't 
straighten  it  out — Kate  was,  of  course,  two  or  three 
years  older;  which  at  their  time  of  life  considerably 
counted. 

Thus  ingeniously  discriminating,  Densher  con 
tinued  slowly  to  wander ;  yet  without  keeping  at  bay 
for  long  the  sense  again  that  his  corner  was  turned. 
It  was  so  turned  that  he  felt  himself  to  have  lost  even 
the  option  of  taking  advantage  of  Milly's  absence 
to  retrace  his  steps.  If  he  might  have  turned  tail, 
vulgarly  speaking,  five  minutes  before,  he  couldn't 
turn  tail  now;  he  must  simply  wait  there  with  his 
consciousness  charged  to  the  brim.  Quickly  enough, 
moreover,  that  issue  was  closed  from  without ;  in  the 
course  of  three  minutes  more  Miss  Theale's  servant 
had  returned.  He  preceded  a  visitor,  whom  he  had 
met,  obviously,  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and  whom, 
throwing  open  the  door,  he  loudly  announced  as 
Miss  Croy.  Kate,  on  following  him  in,  stopped 
short  at  sight  of  Densher — only  after  an  instant,  as 
the  young  man  saw,  with  free  amusement,  not  from 
surprise,  and  still  less  from  discomfiture.  Densher 
immediately  gave  his  explanation — Miss  Theale  had 
gone  to  prepare  to  drive — on  receipt  of  which  the 
servant  effaced  himself. 

"  And  you're  going  with  her  ?  "  Kate  asked. 

:<  Yes — with  your  approval ;  which  I've  taken,  as 
you  see,  for  granted." 

"  Oh,"  she  laughed,  "  my  approval  is  complete !  " 
99 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

She  was  thoroughly  consistent  and  handsome 
about  it. 

"  What  I  mean  is  of  course,"  he  went  on — for  he 
was  sensibly  affected  by  her  gaiety — "  at  your  so 
lively  instigation." 

She  had  looked  about  the  room — she  might  have 
been  vaguely  looking  for  signs  of  the  duration,  of  the 
character,  of  his  visit,  a  momentary  aid  in  taking  a 
decision.  "  Well,  instigation  then,  as  much  as  you 
like."  She  treated  it  as  pleasant,  the  success  of  her 
plea  with  him ;  she  made  a  fresh  joke  of  this  direct 
impression  of  it.  "  So  much  so  as  that  ?  Do  you 
know  I  think  I  won't  wait  ?  " 

"  Not  to  see  her — after  coming  ?  " 

"  Well,  with  you  in  the  field — !  I  came  for  news 
of  her,  but  she  must  be  all  right.  If  she  is " 

But  he  took  her  straight  up.  "  Ah,  how  do  I 
know  ?  "  He  was  moved  to  say  more.  "  It's  not  / 
who  am  responsible  for  her,  my  dear.  It  seems  to 
me  it's  you."  She  struck  him  as  making  light  of  a 
matter  that  had  been  costing  him  sundry  qualms ;  so 
that  they  couldn't  both  be  quite  just.  Either  she 
was  too  easy  or  he  had  been  too  anxious.  He  didn't 
want,  at  all  events,  to  feel  a  fool  for  that.  "  I'm  do 
ing  nothing — and  shall  not,  I  assure  you,  do  any 
thing  but  what  I'm  told." 

Their  eyes  met,  with  some  intensity,  over  the  em 
phasis  he  had  given  his  words;  and  he  had  taken 
it  from  her  the  next  moment  that  he  really  needn't 
get  into  a  state.  What  in  the  world  was  the  matter  ? 

100 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

She  asked  it,  with  interest,  for  all  answer.  "  Isn't 
she  better — if  she's  able  to  see  you  ?  " 

"  She  assures  me  she's  in  perfect  health." 

Kate's  interest  grew.  "  I  knew  she  would."  On 
which  she  added :  "  It  won't  have  been  really  for  ill 
ness  that  she  stayed  away  last  night." 

"For  what  then?" 

"  Well — for  nervousness." 

"  Nervousness  about  what  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  know !  "  She  spoke  with  a  hint  of  im 
patience,  smiling,  however,  the  next  moment.  "  I've 
told  you  that." 

He  looked  at  her  to  recover  in  her  face  what  she 
had  told  him;  then  it  was  as  if  what  he  saw  there 
prompted  him  to  say :  "  What  have  you  told  her?  " 

She  gave  him  her  controlled  smile,  and  it  was  all 
as  if  they  remembered  where  they  were,  liable  to 
surprise,  talking  with  softened  voices,  even  stretch 
ing  their  opportunity,  by  such  talk,  beyond  a  quite 
right  feeling.  Milly's  room  would  be  close  at  hand, 
and  yet  they  were  saying  things !  For  a  mo 
ment,  none  the  less,  they  kept  it  up.  "  Ask  her,  if 
you  like;  you're  free — she'll  tell  you.  Act  as  you 
think  best ;  don't  trouble  about  what  you  think  I  may, 
or  mayn't,  have  told.  I'm  all  right  with  her,"  said 
Kate.  "  So  there  you  are." 

"  If  you  mean  here  I  am,"  he  answered,  "  it's  un 
mistakable.  If  you  also  mean  that  her  believing 
in  you  is  all  I  have  to  do  with,  you're  so  far  right 
as  that  she  certainly  does  believe  in  you." 

IOI 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

"  Well,  then,  take  example  by  her." 

"  She's  really  doing  it  for  you,"  Densher  con 
tinued.  "  She's  driving  me  out  for  you." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Kate,  with  her  soft  tranquil 
lity,  "  you  can  do  it  a  little  for  her.  I'm  not  afraid," 
she  smiled. 

He  stood  before  her  a  moment,  taking  in  again  the 
face  she  put  on  it  and  affected  again,  as  he  had  al 
ready  so  often  been,  by  more  things  in  this  face,  and 
in  her  whole  person  and  presence,  than  he  was,  to 
his  relief,  obliged  to  find  words  for.  It  wasn't,  un 
der  such  impressions,  a  question  of  words.  "  I  do 
nothing  for  any  one  in  the  world  but  you.  But  for 
you  I'll  do  anything." 

"  Good,  good,"  said  Kate.  "  That's  how  I  like 
you." 

He  waited  again  an  instant.  "  Then  you  swear 
to  it?" 

"To4  it'?     To  what?" 

"  Why,  that  you  do  '  like '  me.  For  it's  only  for 
that,  you  know,  that  I'm  letting  you  do — well,  God 
knows  what  with  me." 

She  gave  at  this,  with  a  stare,  a  disheartened  ges 
ture — the  sense  of  which  she  immediately  further  ex 
pressed.  "If  you  don't  believe  in  me  then,  after  all, 
hadn't  you  better  break  off,  before  you've  gone 
further?" 

"Break  off  with  you?" 

"  Break  off  with  Milly.  You  might  go  now,"  she 
said,  "  and  I'll  stay  and  explain  to  her  why  it  is." 

102 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

He  wondered — as  if  it  struck  him.  "  What  would 
you  say?  " 

"  Why,  that  you  find  you  can't  stand  her,  and  that 
there's  nothing  for  me  but  to  bear  with  you  as  I  best 
may." 

He  considered  of  this.  "  How  much  do  you 
abuse  me  to  her  ?  " 

"  Exactly  enough.  As  much  as  you  see  by  her 
attitude." 

Again  he  thought.  "  It  doesn't  seem  to  me  I 
ought  to  mind  her  attitude." 

"  Well,  then,  just  as  you  like.  I'll  stay  and  do  my 
best  for  you." 

He  saw  she  was  sincere,  was  really  giving  him  a 
chance;  and  that  of  itself  made  things  clearer.  The 
feeling  of  how  far  he  had  gone  came  back  to  him  not 
in  repentance,  but  in  this  very  vision  of  an  escape; 
and  it  was  not  of  what  he  had  done,  but  of  what 
Kate  offered,  that  he  now  weighed  the  consequence. 
"  Won't  it  make  her — her  not  finding  me  here — be 
rather  more  sure  there's  something  between  us?  " 

Kate  thought.  "  Oh,  I  don't  know.  It  will  of 
course  greatly  upset  her.  But  you  needn't  trouble 
about  that.  She  won't  die  of  it." 

"  Do  you  mean  she  will? "  Densher  presently 
asked. 

"  Don't  put  me  questions  when  you  don't  believe 
what  I  say.  You  make  too  many  conditions." 

She  spoke  now  with  a  sort  of  rational  weariness 
that  made  the  want  of  pliancy,  the  failure  to  oblige 

103 


THE   WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

her,  look  poor  and  ugly;  so  that  what  it  suddenly 
came  back  to  for  him  was  his  deficiency  in  the  things 
a  man  of  any  taste,  so  engaged,  so  enlisted,  would 
have  liked  to  make  sure  of  being  able  to  show — 
imagination,  tact,  positively  even  humour.  The  cir 
cumstance  is  doubtless  odd,  but  the  truth  is  none  the 
less  that  the  speculation  uppermost  with  him  at  this 
juncture  was :  "  What  if  I  should  begin  to  bore  this 
creature?"  And  that,  within  a  few  seconds,  had 
translated  itself.  "If  you'll  swear  again  you  love 
me !" 

She  looked  about,  at  door  and  window,  as  if  he 
were  asking  for  more  than  he  said.  "  Here  ? 
There's  nothing  between  us  here,"  Kate  smiled. 

"Oh,  isn't  there?"  Her  smile  itself,  with  this, 
had  so  settled  something  for  him  that  he  had  come 
to  her  pleadingly  and  holding  out  his  hands,  which 
she  immediately  seized  with  her  own,  as  if  both  to 
check  him  and  to  keep  him.  It  was  by  keeping  him 
thus  for  a  minute  that  she  did  check  him;  she  held 
him  long  enough ;  while,  with  their  eyes  deeply  meet 
ing,  they  waited  in  silence  for  him  to  recover  himself 
and  renew  his  discretion.  He  coloured,  as  with  a 
return  of  the  sense  of  where  they  were,  and  that  gave 
her  precisely  one  of  her  usual  victories,  which  im 
mediately  took  further  form.  By  the  time  he  had 
dropped  her  hands  he  had  again  taken  hold,  as  it 
were,  of  Milly's.  It  was  not,  at  any  rate,  with  Milly 
he  had  broken.  "  I'll  do  all  you  wish,"  he  declared 
as  if  to  acknowledge  the  acceptance  of  his  condition 

104 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

that  he  had,  practically,  after  all,  drawn  from  her — 
a  declaration  on  which  she  then,  recurring  to  her 
first  idea,  promptly  acted. 

"  If  you  are  as  good  as  that,  I  go.  You'll  tell  her 
that,  finding  you  with  her,  I  wouldn't  wait.  Say 
that,  you  know,  from  yourself.  She'll  understand." 

She  had  reached  the  door  with  it — she  was  full  of 
decision;  but  he  had,  before  she  left  him,  one  more 
doubt.  "  I  don't  see  how  she  can  understand  enough, 
you  know,  without  understanding  too  much." 

"  You  don't  need  to  see." 

He  required  then  a  last  injunction.  "  I  must  sim 
ply  go  it  blind  ?  " 

"  You  must  simply  be  kind  to  her." 

"  And  leave  the  rest  to  you?  " 

"  Leave  the  rest  to  her"  said  Kate  disappearing. 

It  came  back  then  afresh  to  that,  as  it  had  come 
before.  Milly,  three  minutes  after  Kate  had  gone, 
returned  in  her  array — her  big  black  hat,  so  little 
superstitiously  in  the  fashion,  her  fine  black  garments 
throughout,  the  swathing  of  her  throat,  which  Den- 
sher  vaguely  took  for  an  infinite  number  of  yards  of 
priceless  lace,  and  which,  its  folded  fabric  kept  in 
place  by  heavy  rows  of  pearls,  hung  down  to  her  feet 
like  the  stole  of  a  priestess.  He  spoke  to  her  at  once 
of  their  friend's  visit  and  flight.  "  She  hadn't 
known  she  would  find  me,"  he  said — and  said  at  pres 
ent  without  difficulty.  His  corner  was  so  turned 
that  it  wasn't  a  question  of  a  word  more  or  less. 

She  took  this  account  of  the  matter  as  quite  suf- 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

ficient;  she  glossed  over  whatever  might  be  awk 
ward.  "  I'm  sorry — but  I,  of  course,  often  see  her.9' 
He  felt  the  discrimination  in  his  favour,  and  how  it 
justified  Kate.  This  was  Milly's  tone  when  the  mat 
ter  was  left  to  her.  Well,  it  should  now  be  wholly 
left. 


106 


BOOK  SEVENTH 


BOOK  SEVENTH 

XXII 

WHEN  Kate  and  Densher  abandoned  her  to 
Mrs.  Stringham  on  the  day  of  her  meeting 
them  together  and  bringing  them  into  luncheon, 
Milly,  face  to  face  with  that  companion,  had  had  one 
of  those  moments  in  which  the  warned,  the  anxious 
fighter  of  the  battle  of  life,  as  if  once  again  feeling 
for  the  sword  at  his  side,  carries  his  hand  straight 
to  the  quarter  of  his  courage.  She  laid  hers  firmly 
on  her  heart,  and  the  two  women  stood  there  show 
ing  each  other  a  strange  face.  Susan  Shepherd  had 
received  their  great  doctor's  visit,  which  had  been 
clearly  no  small  affair  for  her;  but  Milly  had  since 
then,  with  insistence,  kept  standing,  as  against  com 
munication  and  betrayal,  as  she  now  practically  con 
fessed,  the  barrier  of  their  invited  guests.  "  You've 
been  too  dear.  With  what  I  see  you're  full  of,  you 
treated  them  beautifully.  Isn't  Kate  charming  when 
she  wants  to  be?  " 

Poor  Susie's  expression,  contending  at  first,  as  in 
a  high,  fine  spasm,  with  different  dangers,  had  now 
quite  let  itself  go.  She  had  to  make  an  effort  to 
reach  a  point  in  space  already  so  remote.  "  Miss 

109 


THE  WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

Croy?  Oh,  she  was  pleasant  and  clever.  She 
knew,"  Mrs.  Stringham  added.  "  She  knew." 

Milly  braced  herself — but  conscious,  above  all,  for 
the  moment,  of  a  high  compassion  for  her  mate.  She 
made  her  out  as  struggling — struggling  in  all  her 
nature  against  the  betrayal  of  pity,  which  in  itself, 
given  her  nature,  could  only  be  a  torment.  Milly 
gathered  from  the  struggle  how  much  there  was  of 
the  pity,  and  how  therefore  it  was  both  in  her  ten 
derness  and  in  her  conscience  that  Mrs.  Stringham 
suffered.  Wonderful  and  beautiful  it  was  that  this 
impression  instantly  steadied  the  girl.  Ruefully  ask 
ing  herself  on  what  basis  of  ease,  with  the  drop  of 
their  barrier,  they  were  to  find  themselves  together, 
she  felt  the  question  met  with  a  relief  that  was  al 
most  joy.  The  basis,  the  inevitable  basis,  was  that 
she  was  going  to  be  sorry  for  Susie,  who,  to  all  ap 
pearance,  had  been  condemned,  in  so  much  more  un 
comfortable  a  manner,  to  be  sorry  for  her.  Mrs. 
Stringham's  sorrow  would  hurt  Mrs.  Stringham ;  but 
how  could  her  own  ever  hurt?  She  had,  the  poor 
girl,  at  all  events,  on  the  spot,  five  minutes  of  ex 
altation  in  which  she  turned  the  tables  on  her  friend 
with  a  pass  of  the  hand,  a  gesture  of  an  energy  that 
made  a  wind  in  the  air.  "  Kate  knew,"  she  asked, 
"  that  you  were  full  of  Sir  Luke  Strett  ?  " 

"  She  spoke  of  nothing,  but  she  was  gentle  and 

nice;  she  seemed  to  want  to  help   me  through." 

Which  the  good  lady  had  no  sooner  said,  however, 

than  she  almost  tragically  gasped  at  herself.     She 

*  no 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

glared  at  Milly  with  a  pretended  pluck.  "  What  I 
mean  is  that  she  saw  one  had  been  taken  up  with 
something.  When  I  say  she  knows  I  should  say 
she's  a  person  who  guesses."  And  her  grimace  was 
also,  on  its  side,  heroic.  "  But  she  doesn't  matter, 
Milly." 

The  girl  felt  she  by  this  time  could  face  anything. 
"  Nobody  matters,  Susie — nobody."  Which  her 
next  words,  however,  rather  contradicted.  "  Did 
he  take  it  ill  that  I  wasn't  here  to  see  him  ?  Wasn't 
it  really  just  what  he  wanted — to  have  it  out,  so 
much  more  simply,  with  you?  " 

"  We  didn't  have  anything  *  out/  Milly,"  Mrs. 
Stringham  delicately  quavered. 

"  Didn't  he  awfully  like  you,"  Milly  went  on, 
"  and  didn't  he  think  you  the  most  charming  person 
I  could  possibly  have  referred  him  to  for  an  account 
of  me  ?  Didn't  you  hit  it  off  tremendously  together 
and  in  fact  fall  quite  in  love,  so  that  it  will  really  be 
a  great  advantage  for  you  to  have  me  as  a  common 
ground  ?  You're  going  to  make,  I  can  see,  no  end 
of  a  good  thing  of  me." 

"  My  own  child,  my  own  child !  "  Mrs.  Stringham 
pleadingly  murmured;  yet  showing  as  she  did  so 
that  she  feared  the  effect  even  of  deprecation. 

"  Isn't  he  beautiful  and  good  too  himself? — alto 
gether,  whatever  he  may  say,  a  lovely  acquaintance 
to  have  made?  You're  just  the  right  people  for  me 
— I  see  it  now ;  and  do  you  know  what,  between  you, 
you  must  do  ?  "  Then  as  Susie  still  but  stared,  won- 

iii 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

derstruck  and  holding  herself :  "  You  must  simply 
see  me  through.  Any  way  you  choose.  Make  it 
out  together.  I,  on  my  side,  will  be  beautiful  too, 
and  we'll  be — the  three  of  us,  with  whatever  others, 
oh,  as  many  as  the  case  requires,  any  one  you  like! 
— a  sight  for  the  gods.  I'll  be  as  easy  for  you  as 
carrying  a  feather."  Susie  took  it  for  a  moment  in 
such  silence  that  her  young  friend  almost  saw  her 
—and  scarcely  withheld  the  observation — as  taking 
it  for  "  a  part  of  the  disease."  This  accordingly 
helped  Milly  to  be,  as  she  judged,  definite  and  wise. 
"He  is,  at  any  rate,  awfully  interesting,  isn't  he? 
— which  is  so  much  to  the  good.  We  haven't  at 
least — as  we  might  have,  with  the  way  we  tumbled 
into  it — got  hold  of  one  of  the  dreary." 

"  Interesting,  dearest  ?  " — Mrs.  Stringham  felt 
her  feet  firmer.  "  I  don't  know  if  he's  interesting 
or  not;  but  I  do  know,  my  own,"  she  continued  to 
quaver,  "  that  he's  just  as  much  interested  as  you 
could  possibly  desire." 

"  Certainly — that's  it.     Like  all  the  world." 

"  No,  my  precious,  not  like  all  the  world.  Very 
much  more  deeply  and  intelligently." 

"  Ah,  there  you  are!  "  Milly  laughed.  "  That's 
the  way,  Susie,  I  want  you.  So  '  buck  '  up,  my 
dear.  We'll  have  beautiful  times  with  him.  Don't 
worry." 

"  I'm  not  worrying,  Milly."  And  poor  Susie's 
face  registered  the  sublimity  of  her  lie. 

It  was  at  this  that,  too  sharply  penetrated,  her 

112 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

companion  went  to  her,  met  by  her  with  an  embrace 
in  which  things  were  said  that  exceeded  speech. 
Each  held  and  clasped  the  other  as  if  to  console  her 
for  this  unnamed  woe,  the  woe  for  Mrs.  Stringham 
of  learning  the  torment  of  helplessness,  the  woe  for 
Milly  of  having  her,  at  such  a  time,  to  think  of. 
Milly's  assumption  was  immense,  and  the  difficulty 
for  her  friend  was  that  of  not  being  able  to  gainsay 
it  without  bringing  it  more  to  the  proof  than  ten 
derness  and  vagueness  could  permit.  Nothing  in 
fact  came  to  the  proof  between  them  but  that  they 
could  thus  cling  together — except  indeed  that,  as  we 
have  indicated,  the  pledge  of  protection  and  support 
was  all  the  younger  woman's  own.  "  I  don't  ask 
you,7'  she  presently  said,  "  what  he  told  you  for  your 
self,  nor  what  he  told  you  to  tell  me,  nor  how  he 
took  it,  really,  that  I  had  left  him  to  you,  nor  what 
passed  between  you  about  me  in  any  way.  It  wasn't 
to  get  that  out  of  you  that  I  took  my  means  to  make 
sure  of  your  meeting  freely — for  there  are  things 
I  don't  want  to  know.  I  shall  see  him  again  and 
again,  and  I  shall  know  more  than  enough.  All  I 
do  want  is  that  you  shall  see  me  through  on  his  basis, 
whatever  it  is ;  which  it's  enough — for  the  purpose — 
that  you  yourself  should  know :  that  is  with  him  to 
show  you  how.  I'll  make  it  charming  for  you — 
that's  what  I  mean ;  I'll  keep  you  up  to  it  in  such  a 
way  that  half  the  time  you  won't  know  you're  doing 
it.  And  for  that  you're  to  rest  upon  me.  There. 
It's  understood.  We  keep  each  other  going,  and  you 

VOL.  II.— 8 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

may  absolutely  feel  of  me  that  I  shan't  break  down. 
So,  with  the  way  you  haven't  so  much  as  a  dig  of 
the  elbow  to  fear,  how  could  you  be  safer  ?  " 

"  He  told  me  I  can  help  you — of  course,  he  told 
me  that,"  Susie,  on  her  side,  eagerly  contended. 
"  Why  shouldn't  he,  and  for  what  else  have  I  come 
out  with  you?  But  he  told  me  nothing  dreadful — 
nothing,  nothing,  nothing,"  the  poor  lady  passion 
ately  protested.  "  Only  that  you  must  do  as  you 
like  and  as  he  tells  you — which  is  just  simply  to  do 
as  you  like." 

"  I  must  keep  in  sight  of  him.  I  must  from  time 
to  time  go  to  him.  But  that's  of  course  doing  as  I 
like.  It's  lucky,"  Milly  smiled,  "  that  I  like  going 
to  him." 

Mrs.  Stringham  was  here  in  agreement ;  she  gave 
a  clutch  at  the  account  of  their  situation  that  most 
showed  it  as  workable.  "  That's  what  will  be 
charming  for  me,  and  what  I'm  sure  he  really  wants 
of  me — to  help  you  to  do  as  you  like." 

"  And  also  a  little,  won't  it  be,"  Milly  laughed, 
"to  save  me  from  the  consequences?  Of  course," 
she  added,  "  there  must  first  be  things  I  like." 

"  Oh,  I  think  you'll  find  some,"  Mrs.  Stringham 
more  bravely  said.  "  I  think  there  are  some — as  for 
instance  just  this  one.  I  mean,"  she  explained, 
"  really  having  us  so." 

Milly  thought.  "  Just  as  I  wanted  you  comfort 
able  about  him,  and  him  the  same  about  you?  Yes 
— I  shall  get  the  good  of  it." 

114 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

Susan  Shepherd  appeared  to  wander  from  this 
into  a  slight  confusion.  "  Which  of  them  are  you 
talking  of?" 

Milly  wondered  an  instant — then  had  a  light. 
"  I'm  not  talking  of  Mr.  Densher."  With  which 
moreover  she  showed  amusement.  *  Though  if  you 
can  be  comfortable  about  Mr.  Densher  too,  so  much 
the  better." 

"  Oh,  you  meant  Sir  Luke  Strett  ?  Certainly,  he's 
a  fine  type.  Do  you  know,"  Susie  continued, 
"  whom  he  reminds  me  of  ?  Of  our  great  man — Dr. 
Buttrick  of  Boston." 

Milly  recognised  Dr.  Buttrick  of  Boston,  but  she 
dropped  him  after  a  tributary  pause.  "  What  do 
you  think,  now  that  you've  seen  him,  of  Mr.  Den 
sher?" 

It  was  not  till  after  consideration,  with  her  eyes 
fixed  on  her  friend's,  that  Susie  produced  her  an 
swer.  "  I  think  he's  very  handsome." 

Milly  remained  smiling  at  her,  though  putting  on 
a  little  the  manner  of  a  teacher  with  a  pupil.  "  Well, 
that  will  do  for  the  first  time.  I  have  done,"  she 
.went  on,  "  what  I  wanted." 

:<  Then  that's  all  we  want.  You  see  there  are 
plenty  of  things." 

Milly  shook  her  head  for  the  "  plenty."  "  The 
best  is  not  to  know — that  includes  them  all.  I  don't 
— I  don't  know.  Nothing  about  anything — except 
that  you're  with  me.  Remember  that,  please. 
There  won't  be  anything  that,  on  my  side,  for  you, 
I  shall  forget.  So  it's  all  right." 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

The  effect  of  it  by  this  time  was  fairly,  as  intended, 
to  sustain  Susie  who  dropped  in  spite  of  herself  into 
the  reassuring.  "  Most  certainly  it's  all  right.  I 
think  you  ought  to  understand  that  he  sees  no  rea 
son " 

"  Why  I  shouldn't  have  a  grand  long  life?  "  Milly 
had  taken  it  straight  up  as  if  to  understand  it  and 
for  a  moment  consider  it.  But  she  disposed  of  it 
otherwise.  "  Oh,  of  course,  I  know  that"  She 
spoke  as  if  her  friend's  point  were  small. 

Mrs.  Stringham  tried  to  enlarge  it.  "  Well,  what 
I  mean  is  that  he  didn't  say  to  me  anything  that  he 
hasn't  said  to  yourself." 

"Really? — I  would  in  his  place."  She  might 
have  been  disappointed,  but  she  had  her  good  hu 
mour.  "  He  tells  me  to  live  " — and  she  oddly  lim 
ited  the  word. 

It  left  Susie  a  little  at  sea.  "  Then  what  do  you 
want  more?  " 

"  My  dear,"  the  girl  presently  said,  "  I  don't 
1  want,'  as  I  assure  you,  anything.  Still,"  she  added, 
"  I  am  living.  Oh  yes,  I'm  living." 

It  put  them  again  face  to  face,  but  it  had  wound 
Mrs.  Stringham  up.  "  So  am  I  then,  you'll  see !  " 
— she  spoke  with  the  note  of  her  recovery.  Yet  it 
was  her  wisdom  now — meaning  by  it  as  much  as  she 
did — not  to  say  more  than  that.  She  had  risen  by 
Milly's  aid  to  a  certain  command  of  what  was  before 
them ;  the  ten  minutes  of  their  talk  had,  in  fact,  made 
her  more  distinctly  aware  of  the  presence  in  her  mind 

116 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

of  a  new  idea.  It  was  really  perhaps  an  old  idea 
with  a  new  value ;  it  had  at  all  events  begun  during 
the  last  hour,  though  at  first  but  feebly,  to  shine  with 
a  special  light.  That  was  because,  in  the  morning, 
darkness  had  so  suddenly  descended — a  sufficient 
shade  of  night  to  bring  out  the  power  of  a  star.  The 
dusk  might  be  thick  yet,  but  the  sky  had  compar 
atively  cleared;  and  Susan  Shepherd's  star,  from 
this  time  on,  continued  to  twinkle  for  her.  It  was 
for  the  moment,  after  her  passage  with  Milly,  the 
one  spark  left  in  the  heavens.  She  recognised,  as 
she  continued  to  watch  it,  that  it  had  really  been  set 
there  by  Sir  Luke  Strett's  visit  and  that  the  impres 
sions  immediately  following  had  done  no  more  than 
fix  it.  Milly's  reappearance  with  Mr.  Densher  at 
her  heels — or,  so  oddly  perhaps,  at  Miss  Croy's  heels, 
Miss  Croy  being  at  Milly's — had  contributed  to  this 
effect,  though  it  was  only  with  the  lapse  of  the  great 
er  obscurity  that  Susie  made  that  out.  The  obscurity 
had  reigned  during  the  hour  of  their  friends'  visit, 
faintly  clearing  indeed  while,  in  one  of  the  rooms, 
Kate  Croy's  remarkable  advance  to  her  intensified 
the  fact  that  Milly  and  the  young  man  were  con 
joined  in  the  other.  If  it  hadn't  acquired  on  the 
spot  all  the  intensity  of  which  it  was  capable,  this 
was  because  the  poor  lady  still  sat  in  her  primary 
gloom,  the  gloom  the  great  benignant  doctor  had 
practically  left  behind  him. 

The  intensity  the  circumstance  in  question  might 
wear  to  the  informed  imagination  would  have  been 

117 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

sufficiently  revealed  for  us,  no  doubt — and  with  other 
things  to  our  purpose — in  two  or  three  of  those  con 
fidential  passages  with  Mrs.  Lowder  that  she  now 
permitted  herself.  She  had  not  yet  been  so  glad  that 
she  believed  in  her  old  friend ;  for  if  she  had  not  had, 
at  such  a  pass,  somebody  or  other  to  believe  in  she 
would  certainly  have  stumbled  by  the  way.  Dis 
cretion  had  ceased  to  consist  of  silence;  silence  was 
gross  and  thick ;  whereas  wisdom  should  taper,  how 
ever  tremulously,  to  a  point.  She  betook  herself  to 
Lancaster  Gate  the  morning  after  the  colloquy  just 
noted;  and  there,  in  Maud  Manningham's  own 
sanctum,  she  gradually  found  relief  in  giving  an  ac 
count  of  herself.  An  account  of  herself  was  one  of 
the  things  that  she  had  long  been  in  the  habit  of 
expecting  herself  regularly  to  give — the  regularity 
depending  of  course  much  on  such  tests  of  merit  as 
might,  by  laws  beyond  her  control,  rise  in  her  path. 
She  never  spared  herself  in  short  a  proper  sharpness 
of 'conception  of  how  she  had  behaved,  and  it  was 
a  statement  that  she  for  the  most  part  found  herself 
able  to  make.  What  had  happened  at  present  was 
that  nothing,  as  she  felt,  was  left  of  her  to  report 
to;  she  was  all  too  sunk  in  the  inevitable,  and  the 
abysmal.  To  give  an  account  of  herself  she  must 
give  it  to  somebody  else,  and  her  first  instalment  of 
it  to  her  hostess  was  that  she  must  please  let  her  cry. 
She  couldn't  cry,  with  Milly  in  observation,  at  the 
hotel,  which  she  had  accordingly  left  for  that  pur 
pose;  and  the  power  happily  came  to  her  with  the 

118 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

good  opportunity.  She  cried  and  cried  at  first — she 
confined  herself  to  that ;  it  was  for  the  time  the  best 
statement  of  her  business.  Mrs.  Lowder  moreover 
intelligently  took  it  as  such,  though  knocking  off  a 
note  or  two  more,  as  she  said,  while  Susie  sat  near 
her  table.  She  could  resist  the  contagion  of  tears, 
but  her  patience  did  justice  to  her  visitor's  most  vivid 
plea  for  it.  "  I  shall  never  be  able,  you  know,  to  cry 
again — at  least  not  ever  with  her;  so  I  must  take  it 
out  when  I  can.  Even  if  she  does  herself,  it  won't 
be  for  me  to  give  away ;  for  what  would  that  be  but 
a  confession  of  despair?  I'm  not  with  her  for  that 
— I'm  with  her  to  be  regularly  sublime.  Besides, 
Milly  won't  cry  herself." 

"  I'm  sure  I  hope,"  said  Mrs.  Lowder,  "  that  she 
won't  have  occasion  to." 

"  She  won't  even  if  she  does  have  occasion.  She 
won't  shed  a  tear.  There's  something  that  will  pre 
vent  her." 

"Oh!"  said  Mrs.  Lowder. 

"  Yes,  her  pride,"  Mrs.  Stringham  explained  in 
spite  of  her  friend's  doubt,  and  it  was  with  this  that 
her  communication  took  consistent  form.  ,It  had 
never  been  pride,  Maud  Manningham  had  hinted, 
that  kept  her  from  crying  when  other  things  made 
for  it;  it  had  only  been  that  these  same  things,  at 
such  times,  made  still  more  for  business,  arrange 
ments,  correspondence,  the  ringing  of  bells,  the  mar 
shalling  of  servants,  the  taking  of  decisions.  "  I 
might  be  crying  now,"  she  said,  "  if  I  weren't  writ- 

119 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

ing  letters  " — and  this  quite  without  harshness  for 
her  anxious  companion,  to  whom  she  allowed  just 
the  administrative  margin  for  difference.  She  had 
interrupted  her  no  more  than  she  would  have  inter 
rupted  the  piano-tuner.  It  gave  poor  Susie  time; 
and  when  Mrs.  Lowder,  to  save  appearances  and 
catch  the  post,  had,  with  her  addressed  and  stamped 
notes,  met  at  the  door  of  the  room  the  footman  sum 
moned  by  the  pressure  of  a  knob,  the  facts  of  the 
case  were  sufficiently  ready  for  her.  It  took  but  two 
or  three,  however,  given  their  importance,  to  lay  the 
ground  for  the  great  one — Mrs.  Stringham's  inter 
view  of  the  day  before  with  Sir  Luke,  who  had 
wished  to  see  her  about  Milly. 

"  He  had  wished  it  himself?  " 

"  I  think  he  was  glad  of  it.  Clearly  indeed  he  was. 
He  stayed  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  I  could  see  that  for 
him  it  was  long.  He's  interested,"  said  Mrs.  String- 
ham. 

"  Do  you  mean  in  her  case  ?  " 

"  He  says  it  isn't  a  case." 

"What  then  is  it?" 

"  It  isn't,  at  least,"  Mrs.  Stringham  explained, 
"  the  case  she  believed  it  to  be — thought  it  at  any 
rate  might  be — when,  without  my  knowledge,  she 
went  to  see  him.  She  went  because  there  was  some 
thing  she  was  afraid  of,  and  he  examined  her  thor 
oughly — he  has  made  sure.  She's  wrong — she 
hasn't  what  she  thought." 

"And  what  did  she  think?"  Mrs.  Lowder  de 
manded. 

1 20 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

"  He  didn't  tell  me." 

"And  you  didn't  ask?" 

"  I  asked  nothing,"  said  poor  Susie — "  I  only  took 
what  he  gave  me.  He  gave  me  no  more  than  he  had 
to — he  was  beautiful,"  she  went  on.  "  He  is,  thank 
God,  interested." 

"  He  must  have  been  interested  in  you,  dear," 
Maud  Manningham  observed  with  kindness. 

Her  visitor  met  it  with  candour.  "  Yes,  love,  I 
think  he  is.  I  mean  that  he  sees  what  he  can  do 
with  me." 

Mrs.  Lowder  took  it  rightly.     "  For  her" 

"  For  her.  Anything  in  the  world  he  will  or  he 
must.  He  can  use  me  to  the  last  bone,  and  he  likes 
at  least  that.  He  says  the  great  thing  for  her  is  to 
be  happy." 

"  It's  surely  the  great  thing  for  everyone.  Why, 
therefore,"  Mrs.  Lowder  handsomely  asked,  "  should 
we  cry  so  hard  about  it?  " 

"  Only,"  poor  Susie  wailed,  "  that  it's  so  strange, 
so  beyond  us.  I  mean  if  she  can't  be." 

"  She  must  be."  Mrs.  Lowder  knew  no  impos 
sibles.  "  She  shall  be." 

"  Well — if  you'll  help.  He  thinks,  you  know,  we 
can  help." 

Mrs.  Lowder  faced  a  moment,  in  her  massive  way, 
what  Sir  Luke  Strett  thought.  She  sat  back  there, 
her  knees  apart,  not  unlike  a  picturesque  ear-ringed 
matron  at  a  market-stall ;  while  her  friend,  before  her, 
dropped  their  items,  tossed  the  separate  truths  of  the 

121 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

matter  one  by  one,  into  her  capacious  lap.  "  But  is 
that  all  he  came  to  you  for — to  tell  you  she  must  be 
happy?" 

"  That  she  must  be  made  so — that's  the  point.  It 
seemed  enough,  as  he  told  me,"  Mrs.  Stringham  went 
on ;  "  he  makes  it,  somehow,  such  a  grand,  possible 
affair." 

"  Ah,  well,  if  he  makes  it  possible!  " 

"  I  mean  especially  he  makes  it  grand.  He  gave 
it  to  me,  that  is,  as  my  part.  The  rest's  his  own." 

"  And  what  is  the  rest?  "  Mrs.  Lowder  asked. 

"  I  don't  know.  His  business.  He  means  to 
keep  hold  of  her." 

"  Then  why  do  you  say  it  isn't  a  '  case  '?  It  must 
be  very  much  of  one." 

Everything  in  Mrs.  Stringham  confessed  to  the 
extent  of  it.  "  It's  only  that  it  isn't  the  case  she 
herself  supposed." 

"It's  another?" 

"  It's  another." 

"  Examining  her  for  what  she  supposed,  he  finds 
something  else?  " 

"  Something  else." 

"And  what  does  he  find?" 

"  Ah,"  Mrs.  Stringham  cried,  "  God  keep  me  from 
knowing !  " 

"He  didn't  tell  you  that?" 

But  poor  Susie  had  recovered  herself.  "  What 
I  mean  is  that  if  it's  there  I  shall  know  in  time.  He's 
considering,  but  I  can  trust  him  for  it — because  he 

122 


THE   WINGS  OF   THE  DOVE 

does,  I  feel,  trust  me.     He's  considering,"  she  re 
peated. 

"  He's,  in  other  words,  not  sure?  " 

"  Well,  he's  watching.  I  think  that's  what  he 
means.  She's  to  get  away  now,  but  to  come  back  to 
him  in  three  months." 

"Then  I  think,"  said  Maud  Lowder,  "that  he 
oughtn't  meanwhile  to  scare  us." 

It  roused  Susie  a  little,  Susie  being  already  en 
rolled  in  the  great  doctor's  cause.  This  came  out 
at  least  in  her  glimmer  of  reproach.  "  Does  it  scare 
us  to  enlist  us  for  her  happiness  ?  " 

Mrs.  Lowder  was  rather  stiff  for  it.  "  Yes ;  it 
scares  me.  I'm  always  scared — I  may  call  it  so — 
till  I  understand.  What  happiness  is  he  talking 
about?" 

Mrs.  Stringham  at  this  came  straight.  "  Oh,  you 
know!" 

She  had  really  said  it  so  that  her  friend  had  to 
take  it;  which  the  latter  in  fact  after  a  moment, 
showed  herself  as  having  done.  A  strange  light 
humour  in  the  matter  even  perhaps  suddenly  aiding, 
she  met  it  with  a  certain  accommodation.  "  Well, 

say  one  seems   to  see.     The  point  is "     But, 

fairly  too  full  now  of  her  question,  she  dropped. 

"  The  point  is  will  it  cure?  " 

"  Precisely.  Is  it  absolutely  a  remedy — the  spe 
cific?" 

"  Well,  I  should  think  we  might  know !  "  Mrs. 
Stringham  delicately  declared. 

123 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

"Ah,  but  we  haven't  the  complaint." 

"  Have  you  never,  dearest,  been  in  love?  "  Susan 
Shepherd  inquired. 

"  Yes,  my  child;  but  not  by  the  doctor's  direc 
tion." 

Maud  Manningham  had  spoken  perforce  with  a 
break  into  momentary  mirth,  which  operated — and 
happily  too — as  a  challenge  to  her  visitor's  spirit. 
"  Oh,  of  course  we  don't  ask  his  leave  to  fall.  But 
it's  something  to  know  he  thinks  it  good  for  us." 

"  My  dear  woman,"  Mrs.  Lowder  cried,  "it  strikes 
me  we  know  it  without  him.  So  that  when  that's 
all  he  has  to  tell  us !" 

"  Ah,"  Mrs.  Stringham  interposed,  "  it  isn't  all. 
I  feel  Sir  Luke  will  have  more;  he  won't  have  put 
me  off  with  anything  inadequate.  I'm  to  see  him 
again ;  he  as  good  as  told  me  that  he'll  wish  it.  So 
it  won't  be  for  nothing." 

"  Then  what  will  it  be  for  ?  Do  you  mean  he  has 
somebody  of  his  own  to  propose  ?  Do  you  mean  you 
told  him  nothing?" 

Mrs.  Stringham  dealt  with  these  questions.  "  I 
showed  him  I  understood  him.  That  was  all  I  could 
do.  I  didn't  feel  at  liberty  to  be  explicit ;  but  I  felt, 
even  though  his  visit  so  upset  me,  the  comfort  of 
what  I  had  from  you  night  before  last." 

"  What  I  spoke  to  you  of  in  the  carriage  when  we 
had  left  her  with  Kate?" 

"  You  had  seen,  apparently,  in  three  minutes.  And 
now  that  he's  here,  now  that  I've  met  him  and  had 

124 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE   DOVE 

my  impression  of  him,  I  feel,"  said  Mrs.  Stringham, 
"  that  you've  been  magnificent." 

"  Of  course  I've  been  magnificent.  When," 
asked  Maud  Manningham,  "  was  I  anything  else  ? 
But  Milly  won't  be,  you  know,  if  she  marries  Merton 
Densher." 

"  Oh,  it's  always  magnificent  to  marry  the  man 
one  loves.  But  we're  going  fast !  "  Mrs.  Stringham 
wofully  smiled. 

"  The  thing  is  to  go  fast  if  I  see  the  case  right. 
What  had  I,  after  all,  but  my  instinct  of  that  on  com 
ing  back  with  you,  night  before  last,  to  pick  up 
Kate?  I  felt  what  I  felt — I  knew  in  my  bones  the 
man  had  returned." 

"  That's  just  where,  as  I  say,  you're  magnificent. 
But  wait,"  said  Mrs.  Stringham,  "  till  you've  seen 
him." 

"  I  shall  see  him  immediately  " — Mrs.  Lowder 
took  it  up  with  decision.  "  What  is  then,"  she 
asked,  "  your  impression?  " 

Mrs.  Stringham's  impression  seemed  lost  in  her 
doubts.  "  How  can  he  ever  care  for  her  ?  " 

Her  companion,  in  her  companion's  heavy  manner, 
sat  on  it.  "  By  being  put  in  the  way  of  it." 

"  For  God's  sake  then,"  Mrs.  Stringham  wailed, 
"  put  him  in  the  way.  You  have  him,  one  feels,  in 
your  hand." 

Maud  Lowder's  eyes  at  this  rested  on  her  friend's. 
"  Is  that  your  impression  of  him?  " 

"  It's  my  impression,  dearest,  of  you.  You  han 
dle  everyone." 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

Mrs.  Lowder's  eyes  still  rested,  and  Susan  Shep 
herd  now  felt,  for  a  wonder,  not  less  sincere  by  see 
ing  that  she  pleased  her.  But  there  was  a  great  lim 
itation.  "  I  don't  handle  Kate." 

It  suggested  something  that  her  visitor  had  not 
yet  had  from  her — something  the  sense  of  which 
made  Mrs.  Stringham  gasp.  "  Do  you  mean  Kate 
cares  for  him?  " 

That  fact  the  lady  of  Lancaster  Gate  had  up  to 
this  moment,  as  we  know,  enshrouded,  and  her 
friend's  quick  question  had  produced  a  change  in  her 
face.  She  blinked — then  looked  at  the  question 
hard;  after  which,  whether  she  had  inadvertently 
betrayed  herself  or  had  only  taken  a  decision  and 
then  been  affected  by  the  quality  of  Mrs.  Stringham's 
surprise,  she  accepted  all  results.  What  took  place 
in  her  for  Susan  Shepherd  was  not  simply  that  she 
made  the  best  of  them,  but  that  she  suddenly  saw 
more  in  them  to  her  purpose  than  she  could  have 
imagined.  A  certain  impatience  in  fact  marked  in 
her  this  transition :  she  had  been  keeping  back,  very 
hard,  an  important  truth,  and  wouldn't  have  liked  to 
hear  that  she  had  not  concealed  it  cleverly.  Susie 
nevertheless  felt  herself  passing  as  something  of  a 
fool  with  her  for  not  having  thought  of  it.  What 
Susie  indeed,  however,  most  thought  of  at  present, 
in  the  quick,  new  light  of  it,  was  the  wonder  of 
Kate's  dissimulation.  She  had  time  for  that  view 
while  she  waited  for  an  answer  to  her  cry.  "  Kate 
thinks  she  cares.  But  she's  mistaken.  And  no  one 

126 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

knows  it."  These  things,  distinct  and  responsible, 
were  Mrs.  Lowder's  retort.  Yet  they  were  not  all 
of  it.  "  You  don't  know  it — that  must  be  your  line. 
Or  rather  your  line  must  be  that  you  deny  it  utterly." 

"  Deny  that  she  cares  for  him  ?  " 

"  Deny  that  she  so  much  as  thinks  that  she  does. 
Positively  and  absolutely.  Deny  that  you've  so 
much  as  heard  of  it." 

Susie  faced  this  new  duty.  "  To  Milly,  you  mean 
—if  she  asks?" 

"  To  Milly,  naturally.     No  one  else  will  ask." 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Stringham  after  a  moment, 
"  Milly  won't." 

Mrs.  Lowder  wondered.     "  Are  you  sure?  " 

"  Yes,  the  more  I  think  of  it.  And  luckily  for  me. 
I  lie  badly." 

"  /  lie  well,  thank  God,"  Mrs.  Lowder  almost 
snorted,  "  when,  ,as  sometimes  will  happen,  there's 
nothing  else  so  good.  One  must  always  do  the  best. 
But  without  lies  then,"  she  went  on,  "  perhaps  we 
can  work  it  out."  Her  interest  had  risen ;  her  friend 
saw  her  as,  within  some  minutes,  more  enrolled  and 
inflamed — presently  felt  in  her  what  had  made  the 
difference.  Mrs.  Stringham,  it  was  true,  descried 
this  at  the  time  but  dimly ;  she  only  made  out  at  first 
that  Maud  had  found  a  reason  for  helping  her.  The 
reason  was  that,  strangely,  she  might  help  Maud  too, 
for  which  she  now  desired  to  profess  herself  ready 
even  to  lying.  What  really  perhaps  most  came  out  for 
her  was  that  her  hostess  was  a  little  disappointed  at 

127 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

her  doubt  of  the  social  solidity  of  this  appliance ;  and 
that  in  turn  was  to  become  a  steadier  light.  The 
truth  about  Kate's  delusion,  as  her  aunt  presented 
it,  the  delusion  about  the  state  of  her  affections, 
which  might  be  removed — this  was  apparently  the 
ground  on  which  they  now  might  more  intimately 
meet.  Mrs.  Stringham  saw  herself  recruited  for  the 
removal  of  Kate's  delusion — by  arts,  however,  in 
truth,  that  she  as  yet  quite  failed  to  compass.  Or 
was  it  perhaps  to  be  only  for  the  removal  of  Mr. 
Densher's? — success  in  which  indeed  might  entail 
other  successes.  Before  that  job,  unfortunately,  her 
heart  had  already  failed.  She  felt  that  she  believed 
in  her  bones  what  Milly  believed,  and  what  would 
now  make  working  for  Milly  such  a  dreadful  upward 
tug.  All  this,  within  her,  was  confusedly  present 
— a  cloud  of  questions  out  of  which  Maud  Manning- 
ham's  large  seated  self  loomed,  however,  as  a  mass 
more  and  more  definite,  taking  in  fact  for  the  con 
sultative  relation  something  of  the  form  of  an  oracle. 
From  the  oracle  the  sound  did  come — or  at  any  rate 
the  sense  did,  a  sense  all  accordant  with  the  in 
sufflation  she  had  just  seen  working.  "  Yes,"  the 
sense  was,  "  I'll  help  you  for  Milly  because  if  that 
comes  off  I  shall  be  helped,  by  its  doing  so,  for  Kate  " 
— a  view  into  which  Mrs.  Stringham  could  now  suf 
ficiently  enter.  She  found  herself  of  a  sudden, 
strange  to  say,  quite  willing  to  operate  to  Kate's 
harm,  or  at  least  to  Kate's  good  as  Mrs.  Lowder 
with  a  noble  anxiety  measured  it.  She  found  herself 

128 


THE  WINGS   OF  THE   DOVE 

in  short  not  caring  what  became  of  Kate — only  con 
vinced  at  bottom  of  the  predominance  of  Kate's  star. 
Kate  wasn't  in  danger,  Kate  wasn't  pathetic;  Kate 
Croy,  whatever  happened,  would  take  care  of  Kate 
Croy.  She  saw  moreover  by  this  time  that  her 
friend  was  travelling  even  beyond  her  own  speed. 
Mrs.  Lowder  had  already,  in  mind,  drafted  a  rough 
plan  of  action,  a  plan  vividly  enough  thrown  off,  as 
she  said :  "  You  must  stay  on  a  few  days,  and  you 
must  immediately,  both  of  you,  meet  him  at  dinner." 
In  addition  to  which  Maud  claimed  the  merit  of  hav 
ing  by  an  instinct  of  pity,  of  prescient  wisdom,  done 
much,  two  nights  before,  to  prepare  that  ground. 
c<  The  poor  child,  when  I  was  with  her  there  while 
you  were  getting  your  shawl,  quite  gave  herself  away 
to  me." 

"  Oh,  I  remember  how  you  afterwards  put  it  to 
me.  Though  it  was  nothing  more,"  Susie  did  her 
self  the  justice  to  observe,  "  than  what  I  too  had 
quite  felt." 

But  Mrs.  Lowder  fronted  her  so  on  this  that  she 
wondered  what  she  had  said.  "  I  suppose  I  ought 
to  be  edified  at  what  you  can  so  beautifully  give 
up." 

"  Give  up?  "  Mrs.  Stringham  echoed.  "  Why,  I 
give  up  nothing — I  cling." 

Her  hostess  showed  impatience,  turning  again 
with  some  stiffness  to  her  great  brass-bound  cylinder- 
desk  and  giving  a  push  to  an  object  or  two  disposed 

there.     "  7  give  up  then.     You  know  how  little  such 
VOL.  II.— 9  I2p 


OF  THF 

1  ;  .- 


,, 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

a  person  as  Mr.  Densher  was  to  be  my  idea  for  her. 
You  know  what  I've  been  thinking  perfectly  pos 
sible." 

"  Oh,  you've  been  great " — Susie  was  perfectly 
fair.  "  A  duke,  a  duchess,  a  princess,  a  palace : 
you've  made  me  believe  in  them  too.  But  where  we 
break  down  is  that  she  doesn't  believe  in  them.  Luck 
ily  for  her — as  it  seems  to  be  turning  out — she 
doesn't  want  them.  So  what's  one  to  do  ?  I  assure 
you  I've  had  many  dreams.  But  I've  only  one  dream 
now." 

Mrs.  Stringham's  tone  in  these  last  words  gave  so 
fully  her  meaning  that  Mrs.  Lowder  could  but  show 
herself  as  taking  it  in.  They  sat  a  moment  longer 
confronted  on  it.  "  Her  having  what  she  does 
want?" 

"  If  it  will  do  anything  for  her." 

Mrs.  Lowder  seemed  to  think  what  it  might  do; 
but  she  spoke  for  the  instant  of  something  else.  "  It 
does  provoke  me  a  bit,  you  know — for  of  course  I'm 
a  brute.  And  I  had  thought  of  all  sorts  of  things. 
Yet  it  doesn't  prevent  the  fact  that  we  must  be  de 
cent." 

"  We  must  take  her  " — Mrs.  Stringham  carried 
that  out—"  as  she  is." 

"  And  we  must  take  Mr.  Densher  as  he  is."  With 
which  Mrs.  Lowder  gave  a  sombre  laugh.  "  It's  a 
pity  he  isn't  better !  " 

"  Well,  if  he  were  better,"  her  friend  rejoined, 
"  you  would  have  liked  him  for  your  niece ;  and  in 

130 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE   DOVE 

that  case  Milly  would  interfere.  1  mean,"  Susie 
added,  "  interfere  with  you." 

"  She  interferes  with  me  as  it  is — not  that  it  mat 
ters  now.  But  I  saw  Kate  and  her — really  as  soon 
as  you  came  to  me — set  up  side  by  side.  I  saw  your 
girl — I  don't  mind  telling  you — helping  my  girl; 
and  when  I  say  that,"  Mrs.  Lowder  continued, 
"  you'll  probably  put  in  for  yourself  that  it  was  part 
of  the  reason  of  my  welcome  to  you.  So  you  see 
what  I  give  up.  I  do  give  it  up.  But  when  I  take 
that  line,"  she  further  set  forth,  "  I  take  it  hand 
somely.  So  good-bye  to  it  all.  Good-day  to  Mrs. 
Densher !  Heavens !  "  she  growled. 

Susie  held  herself  a  minute.  "  Even  as  Mrs.  Den 
sher  my  girl  will  be  somebody." 

"  Yes,  she  won't  be  nobody.  Besides,"  said  Mrs. 
Lowder,  "  we're  talking  in  the  air." 

Her  companion  sadly  assented.  "  We're  leaving 
everything  out." 

"  It's  nevertheless  interesting."  And  Mrs.  Low 
der  had  another  thought.  "  He's  not  quite  nobody 
either."  It  brought  her  back  to  the  question  she 
had  already  put  and  which  her  friend  had  not  at  the 
time  met.  "  What,  in  fact,  do  you  make  of 
him?" 

Susan  Shepherd,  at  this,  for  reasons  not  clear  even 
to  herself  was  moved  a  little  to  caution.  So  she  re 
mained  general.  "  He's  charming." 

She  had  met  Mrs.  Lowder's  eyes  with  that  ex 
treme  pointedness  in  her  own  to  which  people  resort 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

when  they  are  not  quite  candid — a  circumstance  that 
had  its  effect.  "  Yes;  he's  charming." 

The  effect  of  the  words,  however,  was  equally 
marked ;  they  almost  determined  in  Mrs.  Stringham 
a  return  of  amusement.  "  I  thought  you  didn't  like 
him!"  - 

"  I  don't  like  him  for  Kate." 

"  But  you  don't  like  him  for  Milly  either." 

Mrs.  Stringham  rose  as  she  spoke,  and  her  friend 
also  got  up.  "  I  like  him,  my  dear,  for  myself." 

"  Then  that's  the  best  way  of  all." 

"  Well,  it's  one  way.  He's  not  good  enough  for 
my  niece,  and  he's  not  good  enough  for  you.  One's 
an  aunt,  one's  a  wretch  and  one's  a  fool." 

"  Oh,  Pm  not — not  either,"  Susie  declared. 

But  her  companion  kept  on.  "  One  lives  for  oth 
ers.  You  do  that.  If  I  were  living  for  myself  I 
shouldn't  at  all  mind  him." 

But  Mrs.  Stringham  was  sturdier.  "  Ah,  if  I  find 
him  charming  it's  however  I'm  living." 

Well,  it  broke  Mrs.  Lowder  down.  She  hung  fire 
but  an  instant,  giving  herself  away  with  a  laugh. 
"  Of  course  he's  all  right  in  himself." 

"  That's  all  I  contend,"  Susie  said  with  more  re 
serve;  and  the  note  in  question — what  Merton 
Densher  was  "  in  himself  " — closed  practically,  with 
some  inconsequence,  this  first  of  their  councils. 


132 


XXIII 

IT  had  at  least  made  the  difference  for  them,  they 
could  feel,  of  an  informed  state  in  respect  to  the 
great  doctor,  whom  they  were  now  to  take  as  watch 
ing-,  waiting,  studying,  or  at  any  rate  as  proposing 
to  himself  some  such  process  before  he  should  make 
up  his  mind.  Mrs.  Stringham  understood  him  as 
considering  the  matter  meanwhile  in  a  spirit  that, 
on  this  same  occasion,  at  Lancaster  Gate,  she  had 
come  back  to  a  rough  notation  of  before  retiring. 
She  followed  the  course  of  his  reckoning.  If  what 
they  had  talked  of  could  happen — if  Milly,  that  is, 
could  have  her  thoughts  taken  off  herself  —  it 
wouldn't  do  any  harm  and  might  conceivably  do 
much  good.  If  it  couldn't  happen — if,  anxiously, 
though  tactfully  working,  they  themselves,  con 
joined,  could  do  nothing  to  contribute  to  it — they 
would  be  in  no  worse  a  box  than  before.  Only  in 
this  latter  case  the  girl  would  have  had  her  free 
range  for  the  summer,  for  the  autumn;  she  would 
have  done  her  best  in  the  sense  enjoined  on  her, 
and,  coming  back  at  the  end  to  her  eminent  man, 
would — besides  having  more  to  show  him — find 
him  more  ready  to  go  on  with  her.  It  was  visible 
further  to  Susan  Shepherd — as  well  as  being  ground 
for  a  second  report  to  her  old  friend — that  Milly  did 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

her  part  for  a  working  view  of  the  general  case,  in 
asmuch  as  she  mentioned  frankly  and  promptly  that 
she  meant  to  go  and  say  good-bye  to  Sir  Luke 
Strett  and  thank  him.  She  even  specified  what  she 
was  to  thank  him  for,  his  having  been  so  easy  about 
her  behaviour. 

"  You  see  I  didn't  know  that — for  the  liberty  I 
took — I  shouldn't  afterwards  get  a  stiff  note  from 
him." 

So  much  Milly  had  said  to  her,  and  it  had  made 
her  a  trifle  rash.  "  Oh,  you'll  never  get  a  stiff  note 
from  him  in  your  life." 

She  felt  her  rashness,  the  next  moment,  at  her 
young  friend's  question.  "  Why  not,  as  well  as  any 
one  else  who  has  played  him  a  trick?  " 

"  Well,  because  he  doesn't  regard  it  as  a  trick. 
He  could  understand  your  action.  It's  all  right, 
you  see." 

«  Yes — I  do  see.  It  is  all  right.  He's  easier 
with  me  than  with  any  one  else,  because  that's  the 
way  to  let  me  down.  He's  only  making  believe, 
and  I'm  not  worth  hauling  up." 

Rueful  at  having  provoked  again  this  ominous 
flare,  poor  Susie  grasped  at  her  only  advantage. 
"  Do  you  really  accuse  a  man  like  Sir  Luke  Strett 
of  trifling  with  you?  " 

She  couldn't  blind  herself  to  the  look  her  com 
panion  gave  her — a  strange,  half-amused  percep 
tion  of  what  she  made  of  it.  "  Well,  so  far  as  it's 
trifling  with  me  to  pity  me  so  much." 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

"  He  doesn't  pity  you,"  Susie  earnestly  reasoned. 
"  He  just — the  same  as  any  one  else — likes  you." 

"  He  has  no  business  then  to  like  me.  He's  not 
the  same  as  any  one  else." 

"  Why  not,  if  he  wants  to  work  for  you?  " 

Milly  gave  her  another  look,  but  this  time  a  won 
derful  smile.  "  Ah,  there  you  are !  "  Mrs.  String- 
ham  coloured,  for  there  indeed  she  was  again.  But 
Milly  let  her  off.  "  Work  for  me,  all  the  same — 
work  for  me !  It  is  of  course  what  I  want."  Then, 
as  usual,  she  embraced  her  friend.  "  I'm  not  going 
to  be  as  nasty  as  this  to  him.1' 

"  I'm  sure  I  hope  not !  " — and  Mrs.  Stringham 
laughed  for  the  kiss.  "  I've  no  doubt,  however, 
he'd  take  it  from  you !  It's  you,  my  dear,  who  are 
not  the  same  as  any  one  else." 

Milly's  assent  to  which,  after  an  instant,  gave  her 
the  last  word.  "  No,  so  that  people  can  take  any 
thing  from  me."  And  what  Mrs.  Stringham  did  in 
deed  resignedly  take  after  this  was  the  absence,  on 
her  part,  of  any  account  of  the  visit  then  paid.  It 
was  the  beginning  in  fact,  between  them,  of  an  odd 
independence — an  independence  positively  of  ac 
tion  and  custom — on  the  subject  of  Milly's  future. 
They  went  their  separate  ways,  with  the  girl's  in 
tense  assent;  this  being  really  nothing  but  what  she 
had  so  wonderfully  put  in  her  plea  for  after  Mrs. 
Stringham's  first  encounter  with  Sir  Luke.  She 
fairly  favoured  the  idea  that  Susie  had  or  was  to 
have  other  encounters — private,  pointed,  personal; 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

she  favoured  every  idea,  but  most  of  all  the  idea  that 
she  herself  was  to  go  on  as  if  nothing  were  the  mat 
ter.  Since  she  was  to  be  worked  for,  that  would  be 
her  way;  and  though  her  companion  learned  from 
herself  nothing  of  it,  that  was  in  the  event  her  way 
with  her  medical  adviser.  She  put  her  visit  to  him 
on  the  simplest  ground;  she  had  just  come  to  tell 
him  how  touched  she  had  been  by  his  goodnature. 
This  required  little  explaining,  for,  as  Mrs.  String- 
ham  had  said,  he  quite  understood,  he  could  but  re 
ply  that  it  was  all  right. 

"  I  had  a  charming  quarter  of  an  hour  with  that 
clever  lady.  You've  got  good  friends." 

"  So  each  one  of  them  thinks — of  all  the  others. 
But  so  I  also  think/'  Milly  went  on,  "  of  all  of  them 
together.  You're  excellent  for  each  other.  And 
it's  in  that  way,  I  dare  say,  that  you're  best  for  me." 

There  came  to  her  on  this  occasion  one  of  the 
strangest  of  her  impressions,  which  was  at  the  same 
time  one  of  the  finest  of  her  alarms — the  glimmer 
of  a  vision  that  if  she  should  go,  as  it  were,  too  far, 
she  might  perhaps  deprive  their  relation  of  facility 
if  not  of  value.  Going  too  far  was  failing  to  try  at 
least  to  remain  simple.  He  would  be  quite  ready 
to  hate  her  if  she  did,  by  heading  him  off  at  every 
point,  embarrass  his  exercise  of  a  kindness  that,  no 
doubt,  in  a  way,  constituted  for  him  a  high  method. 
Susie  wouldn't  hate  her  because  Susie  positively 
wanted  to  suffer  for  her;  Susie  had  a  noble  idea  that 
she  might  somehow  so  do  her  good.  Such,  how- 

136 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

ever,  was  not  the  way  in  which  the  greatest  of  Lon 
don  doctors  was  to  be  expected  to  wish  to  do  it. 
He  wouldn't  have  time  even  if  he  should  wish; 
whereby,  in  a  word,  Milly  felt  herself  intimately 
warned.  Face  to  face  there  with  her  smooth,  strong 
director,  she  enjoyed  at  a  given  moment  quite  such 
another  lift  of  feeling  as  she  had  known  in  her  cru 
cial  talk  with  Susie.  It  came  round  to  the  same 
thing;  him  too  she  would  help  to  help  her  if  that 
could  possibly  be;  but  if  it  couldn't  possibly  be  she 
would  assist  also  to  make  this  right.  It  wouldn't 
have  taken  many  minutes  more,  on  the  basis  in 
question,  almost  to  reverse  for  her  their  characters 
of  patient  and  physician.  What  was  he,  in  fact,  but 
patient,  what  was  she  but  physician,  from  the  mo 
ment  she  embraced  once  for  all  the  necessity,  adopt 
ed  once  for  all  the  policy,  of  saving  him  alarms  about 
her  subtlety?  She  would  leave  the  subtlety  to 
him;  he  would  enjoy  his  use  of  it;  and  she  herself, 
no  doubt,  would  in  time  enjoy  his  enjoyment.  She 
went  so  far  as  to  imagine  that  the  inward  success 
of  these  reflections  flushed  her  for  the  minute,  to  his 
eyes,  with  a  certain  bloom,  a  comparative  appear 
ance  of  health;  and  what  verily  next  occurred  was 
that  he  gave  colour  to  the  presumption.  "  Every 
little  helps,  no  doubt !  "  —  he  noticed  good-hu- 
mouredly  her  harmless  sally.  "  But,  help  or  no 
help,  you're  looking,  you  know,  remarkably  well." 

"  Oh,  I  thought  I  was,"  she  answered;  and  it  was 
as  if  already  she  saw  his  line.     Only  she  wondered 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

what  he  would  have  guessed.  If  he  had  guessed 
anything  at  all  it  would  be  rather  remarkable  of  him. 
As  for  what  there  was  to  guess,  he  couldn't — if  this 
was  present  to  him — have  arrived  at  it  save  by  his 
own  acuteness.  This  acuteness  was  therefore  im 
mense;  and  if  it  supplied  the  subtlety  she  thought 
of  leaving  him  to,  his  portion  would  be  none  so  bad. 
Neither,  for  that  matter,  would  hers  be — which  she 
was  even  actually  enjoying.  She  wondered  if  really 
then  there  mightn't  be  something  for  her.  She 
hadn't  been  sure  in  coming  to  him  that  she  was 
"  better,"  and  he  hadn't  used,  he  would  be  awfully 
careful  not  to  use,  that  compromising  term  about 
her;  in  spite  of  all  of  which  she  would  have  been 
ready  to  say,  for  the  amiable  sympathy  of  it,  "  Yes, 
I  must  be,"  for  he  had  this  unaided  sense  of  some 
thing  that  had  happened  to  her.  It  was  a  sense  un 
aided,  because  who  could  have  told  him  of  anything? 
Susie,  she  was  certain,  had  not  yet  seen  him  again, 
and  there  were  things  it  was  impossible  she  could 
have  told  him  the  first  time.  Since  such  was  his 
penetration,  therefore,  why  shouldn't  she  gracefully, 
in  recognition  of  it,  accept  the  new  circumstance, 
the  one  he  was  clearly  wanting  to  congratulate  her 
on,  as  a  sufficient  cause?  If  one  nursed  a  cause  ten 
derly  enough  it  might  produce  an  effect;  and  this, 
to  begin  with,  would  be  a  way  of  nursing.  ''  You 
gave  me  the  other  day,"  she  went  on,  "  plenty  to 
think  over,  and  I've  been  doing  that — thinking  it 
over — quite  as  you'll  have  probably  wished  me.  I 

138 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

think  I  must  be  pretty  easy  to  treat,"  she  smiled, 
"  since  you've  already  done  me  so  much  good." 

The  only  obstacle  to  reciprocity  with  him  was 
that  he  looked  in  advance  so  closely  related  to  all 
one's  possibilities  that  one  missed  the  pleasure  of 
really  improving  it.  "  Oh  no,  you're  extremely 
difficult  to  treat.  I've  need  with  you,  I  assure  you, 
of  all  my  wit." 

"Well,  I  mean,  I  do  come  up."  She  hadn't 
meanwhile  a  bit  believed  in  his  answer,  convinced  as 
she  was  that  if  she  had  been  difficult  it  would  be  the 
last  thing  he  would  have  told  her.  "  I'm  doing," 
she  said,  "  as  I  like." 

"  Then  it's  as  /  like.  But  you  must  really, 
though  we're  having  such  a  decent  month,  get 
straight  away."  In  pursuance  of  which,  when  she 
had  replied  with  promptitude  that  her  departure — 
for  the  Tyrol  and  then  for  Venice — was  quite  fixed 
for  the  fourteenth,  he  took  her  up  with  alacrity. 
"  For  Venice?  That's  perfect,  for  we  shall  meet 
there.  I've  a  dream  of  it  for  October,  when  I'm 
hoping  for  three  weeks  off;  three  weeks  during 
which,  if  I  can  get  them  clear,  my  niece,  a  young 
person  who  has  quite  the  whip  hand  of  me,  is  to  take 
me  where  she  prefers.  I  heard  from  her  only  yes 
terday  that  she  expects  to  prefer  Venice." 

"  That's  lovely  then.  I  shall  expect  you  there. 
And  anything  that,  in  advance  or  in  any  way,  I  can 
do  for  you !  " 

"  Oh,  thank  you.     My  niece,   I   seem  to  feel, 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

does  for  me.     But  it  will  be  capital  to  find  you 
there." 

"  I  think  it  ought  to  make  you  feel,"  she  said  after 
a  moment,  "  that  I  am  easy  to  treat." 

But  he  shook  his  head  again;  he  wouldn't  have 
it.  '  You've  not  come  to  that  yet." 

"  One  has  to  be  so  bad  for  it?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  think  I've  ever  come  to  it — to 
'  ease  '  of  treatment.  I  doubt  if  it's  possible.  I've 
not,  if  it  is,  found  any  one  bad  enough.  The  ease, 
you  see,  is  for  you" 

"  I  see— I  see." 

They  had  an  odd,  friendly  but  perhaps  the  least 
bit  awkward  pause  on  it;  after  which  Sir  Luke 
asked :  "  And  that  clever  lady  —  she  goes  with 
you?  " 

"  Mrs.  Stringham?  Oh  dear,  yes.  She'll  stay 
with  me,  I  hope,  to  the  end." 

He  had  a  cheerful  blankness.  "  To  the  end  of 
what?" 

"  Well— of  everything." 

"  Ah  then,"  he  laughed,  "  you're  in  luck.  The 
end  of  everything  is  far  off.  This,  you  know,  I'm 
hoping,"  said  Sir  Luke,  "  is  only  the  beginning." 
And  the  next  question  he  risked  might  have 
been  a  part  of  his  hope.  "  Just  you  and  she  to 
gether?  " 

"  No,  two  other  friends;  two  ladies  of  whom  we've 
seen  more  here  than  of  any  one  and  who  are  just 
the  right  people  for  us." 

140 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

He  thought  a  moment.  "  You'll  be  four  women 
together  then?" 

"  Ah,"  said  Milly,  "  we're  widows  and  orphans. 
But  I  think,"  she  added  as  if  to  say  what  she  saw 
would  reassure  him,  "  that  we  shall  not  be  unat 
tractive,  as  we  move,  to  gentlemen.  When  you 
talk  of  '  life '  I  suppose  you  mean,  mainly,  gentle 
men." 

"  When  I  talk  of '  life/  "  he  made  answer  after  a 
moment  during  which  he  might  have  been  appre 
ciating  her  raciness — "  when  I  talk  of  life  I  think  I 
mean  more  than  anything  else  the  beautiful  show 
of  it,  in  its  freshness,  made  by  young  persons  of 
your  age.  So  go  on  as  you  are.  I  see  more  and 
more  how  you  are.  You  can't,"  he  went  so  far  as 
to  say  for  pleasantness,  "  better  it." 

She  took  it  from  him  with  a  great  show  of  peace. 
"  One  of  our  companions  will  be  Miss  Croy,  who 
came  with  me  here  first.  It's  in  her  that  life  is 
splendid;  and  a  part  of  that  is  even  that  she's  de 
voted  to  me.  But  she's,  above  all,  magnificent  in 
herself.  So  that  if  you'd  like,"  she  freely  threw  out, 
"  to  see  her " 

"  Oh,  I  shall  like  to  see  any  one  who's  devoted  to 
you,  for,  clearly,  it  will  be  jolly  to  be  '  in  '  it.  So 
that  if  she's  to  be  at  Venice  I  shall  see  her?  " 

"  We  must  arrange  it — I  shan't  fail.  She  more 
over  has  a  friend  who  may  also  be  there  " — Milly 
found  herself  going  on  to  this.  "  He's  likely  to 
come,  I  believe,  for  he  always  follows  her." 

141 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

Sir  Luke  wondered.  "You  mean  they're 
lovers?  " 

"He  is,"  Milly  smiled;  "but  not  she.  She 
doesn't  care  for  him." 

Sir  Luke  took  an  interest.  "  What's  the  matter 
with  him?" 

"  Nothing  but  that  she  doesn't  like  him." 

Sir  Luke  kept  it  up.     "  Is  he  all  right?  " 

"  Oh,  he's  very  nice.  Indeed  he's  remarkably 
so." 

"  And  he's  to  be  in  Venice?  " 

"  So  she  tells  me  she  fears.  For  if  he  is  there  he'll 
be  constantly  about  with  her." 

"  And  she'll  be  constantly  about  with  you?  " 

"  As  we're  great  friends — yes." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Sir  Luke,  "  you  won't  be  four 
women  alone." 

"  Oh,  no;  I  recognise  the  chance  of  gentlemen. 
But  he  won't,"  Milly  pursued  in  the  same  wondrous 
way,  "  have  come,  you  see,  for  me." 

"  No — I  see.     But  can't  you  help  him?  " 

"  Can't  you? "  Milly  after  a  moment  quaintly 
asked.  Then  for  the  joke  of  it  she  explained. 
"  I'm  putting  you,  you  see,  in  relation  with  my 
entourage." 

It  might  have  been  for  the  joke  of  it  too,  by  this 
time,  that  her  eminent  friend  fell  in.  "  But  if  this 
gentleman  isn't  of  your  entourage?  I  mean  if  he's 
of — what  do  you  call  her? — Miss  Croy's.  Unless 
indeed  you  also  take  an  interest  in  him." 

142 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

"  Oh,  certainly  I  take  an  interest  in  him ! " 

"  You  think  there  may  be  then  some  chance  for 
him?  " 

"  I  like  him,"  said  Milly,  "  enough  to  hope  so." 

"Then  that's  all  right.  But  what,  pray,"  Sir 
Luke  next  asked,  "  have  I  to  do  with  him?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Milly,  "  except  that  if  you're  to 
be  there,  so  may  he  be.  And  also  that  we  shan't  in 
that  case  be  simply  four  dreary  women." 

He  considered  her  as  if  at  this  point  she  a  little 
tried  his  patience.  "  You're  the  least  '  dreary ' 
woman  I've  ever,  ever  seen.  Ever,  do  you  know? 
There's  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't  have  a  really 
splendid  life." 

"  So  everyone  tells  me,"  she  promptly  returned. 

"  The  conviction — strong  already  when  I  had 
seen  you  once — is  strengthened  in  me  by  having 
seen  your  friend.  There's  no  doubt  about  it.  The 
world's  before  you." 

"  What  did  my  friend  tell  you?  "  Milly  asked. 

"  Nothing  that  wouldn't  have  given  you  pleasure. 
We  talked  about  you — and  freely.  I  don't  deny 
that.  But  it  shows  me  I  don't  require  of  you  the 
impossible." 

She  was  now  on  her  feet.  "  I  think  I  know  what 
you  require  of  me." 

"  Nothing,  for  you,"  he  went  on,  "  is  impossible. 
So  go  on."  He  repeated  it  again — wanting  her  so 
to  feel  that  to-day  he  saw  it.  "  You're  all  right." 

"  Well,"  she  smiled—"  keep  me  so." 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

"  Oh,  you'll  get  away  from  me." 

"  Keep  me,  keep  me,"  she  simply  continued  with 
her  gentle  eyes  on  him. 

She  had  given  him  her  hand  for  good-bye,  and 
he  thus  for  a  moment  did  keep  her.  Something 
then,  while  he  seemed  to  think  if  there  were  any 
thing  more,  came  back  to  him;  though  something 
of  which  there  was  not  too  much  to  be  made.  "  Of 
course  if  there's  anything  I  can  do  for  your  friend : 

I  mean  the  gentleman  you  speak  of "  He  gave 

out  in  short  that  he  was  ready. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Densher?  "  It  was  as  if  she  had  for 
gotten. 

"  Mr.  Densher — is  that  his  name?  " 

"  Yes — but  his  case  isn't  so  dreadful."  She  had 
within  a  minute  got  away  from  that. 

"  No  doubt — if  you  take  an  interest."  Stie  had 
got  away,  but  it  was  as  if  he  made  out  in  her  eyes — 
though  they  also  had  rather  got  away — a  reason  for 
calling  her  back.  "  Still,  if  there's  anything  one  can 

Hr»— — — ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  while  she  thought,  while  she 
smiled.  "  I'm  afraid  there's  really  nothing  one  can 
do." 


144 


XXIV 

NOT  yet  so  much  as  this  morning  had  she  felt  her 
self  sink  into  possession;  gratefully  glad  that  the 
warmth  of  the  southern  summer  was  still  in  the  high, 
florid  rooms,  palatial  chambers  where  hard,  cool 
pavements  took  reflections  in  their  lifelong  polish, 
and  where  the  sun  on  the  stirred  sea-water,  flicker 
ing  up  through  open  windows,  played  over  the 
painted  "  subjects  "  in  the  splendid  ceilings — medal 
lions  of  purple  and  brown,  of  brave  old  melancholy 
colour,  medals  as  of  old  reddened  gold,  embossed 
and  beribboned,  all  toned  with  time  and  all  flour 
ished  and  scolloped  and  gilded  about,  set  in  their 
great  moulded  and  figured  concavity  (a  nest  of 
white  cherubs,  friendly  creatures  of  the  air),  and 
appreciated  by  the  aid  of  that  second  tier  of  smaller 
lights,  straight  openings  to  the  front,  which  did 
everything,  even  with  the  Baedekers  and  photo 
graphs  of  Milly's  party  dreadfully  meeting  the  eye, 
to  make  of  the  place  an  apartment  of  state.  This 
at  last  only,  though  she  had  enjoyed  the  palace 
for  three  weeks,  seemed  to  count  as  effective  oc 
cupation;  perhaps  because  it  was  the  first  time 
she  had  been  alone  —  really  to  call  alone  —  since 
she  had  left  London,  her  first  full  and  unembarrassed 
sense  of  what  the  great  Eugenic  had  done  for  her. 

VOL.  II.— 10  i 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

The  great  Eugenic,  recommended  by  grand-dukes 
and  Americans,  had  entered  her  service  during  the 
last  hours  of  all — had  crossed  from  Paris,  after  mul 
tiplied  pourparlers  with  Mrs.  Stringham,  to  whom 
she  had  allowed  more  than  ever  a  free  hand,  on  pur 
pose  to  escort  her  to  the  continent  and  encompass 
her  there,  and  had  dedicated  to  her,  from  the  mo 
ment  of  their  meeting,  all  the  treasures  of  his  ex 
perience.  She  had  judged  him  in  advance,  polyglot 
and  universal,  very  dear  and  very  deep,  as  probably 
but  a  swindler  finished  to  the  finger-tips;  for  he  was 
forever  carrying  one  well-kept  Italian  hand  to  his 
heart  and  plunging  the  other  straight  into  her 
pocket,  which,  as  she  had  instantly  observed  him  to 
recognise,  fitted  it  like  a  glove.  The  remarkable 
thing  was  that  these  elements  of  their  common  con 
sciousness  had  rapidly  gathered  into  an  indestructi 
ble  link,  formed  the  ground  of  a  happy  relation;  be 
ing  by  this  time,  strangely,  grotesquely,  delightfully, 
what  most  kept  up  confidence  between  them  and 
what  most  expressed  it. 

She  had  seen  quickly  enough  what  was  happen 
ing — the  usual  thing  again,  yet  once  again.  Eu- 
genio  had,  in  an  interview  of  five  minutes,  under 
stood  her,  had  got  hold,  like  all  the  world,  of  the  idea 
not  so  much  of  the  care  with  which  she  must  be 
taken  up  as  of  the  ease  with  which  she  must  be  let 
down.  All  the  world  understood  her,  all  the  world 
had  got  hold;  but  for  nobody  yet,  she  felt,  would 
the  idea  have  been  so  close  a  tie  or  won  from  her- 

146 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

self  so  patient  a  surrender.  Gracefully,  respectfully, 
consummately  enough — always  with  hands  in  posi 
tion  and  the  look,  in  his  thick,  neat,  white  hair, 
smooth,  fat  face  and  black,  professional,  almost  the 
atrical  eyes,  as  of  some  famous  tenor  grown  too  old 
to  make  love,  but  with  an  art  still  to  make  money — 
did  he,  on  occasion,  convey  to  her  that  she  was,  of 
all  the  clients  of  his  glorious  career,  the  one  in  whom 
his  interest  was  most  personal  and  paternal.  The 
others  had  come  in  the  way  of  business,  but  for  her 
his  sentiment  was  special.  Confidence  rested  thus 
on  her  completely  believing  that :  there  was  nothing 
of  which  she  felt  more  sure.  It  passed  between 
them  every  time  they  conversed;  he  was  abysmal, 
but  this  intimacy  lived  on  the  surface.  He  had 
taken  his  place  already  for  her  among  those  who 
were  to  see  her  through,  and  meditation  ranked  him, 
in  the  constant  perspective,  for  the  final  function, 
side  by  side  with  poor  Susie — whom  she  was  now 
pitying  more  than  ever  for  having  to  be  herself  so 
sorry  and  to  say  so  little  about  it.  Eugenic  had  the 
general  tact  of  a  residuary  legatee — which  was  a 
character  that  could  be  definitely  worn;  whereas 
she  could  see  Susie,  in  the  event  of  her  death,  in  no 
character  at  all,  Susie  being  insistently,  exclusively 
concerned  in  her  mere  make-shift  duration.  This 
principle,  for  that  matter,  Milly  at  present,  with  a 
renewed  flare  of  fancy,  felt  that  she  should  herself 
have  liked  to  believe  in.  Eugenic  had  really  done 
for  her  more  than  he  probably  knew — he  didn't  after 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

all  know  everything — in  having,  for  the  wind-up  of 
the  autumn,  on  a  weak  word  from  her,  so  admirably, 
so  perfectly  established  her.  Her  weak  word,  as  a 
general  hint,  had  been :  "  At  Venice,  please,  if  pos 
sible,  no  dreadful,  no  vulgar  hotel;  but,  if  it  can  be 
at  all  managed — you  know  what  I  mean — some  fine 
old  rooms,  wholly  independent,  for  a  series  of 
months.  Plenty  of  them,  too,  and  the  more  inter 
esting  the  better :  part  of  a  palace,  historic  and  pic 
turesque,  but  strictly  inodorous,  where  we  shall  be 
to  ourselves,  with  a  cook,  don't  you  know? — with 
servants,  frescoes,  tapestries,  antiquities,  the  thor 
ough  make-believe  of  a  settlement." 

The  proof  of  how  he  better  and  better  understood 
her  was  in  all  the  place;  as  to  his  masterly  acquisi 
tion  of  which  she  had  from  the  first  asked  no  ques 
tions.  She  had  shown  him  enough  what  she 
thought  of  it,  and  her  forbearance  pleased  him; 
with  the  part  of  the  transaction  that  mainly  con 
cerned  her  she  would  soon  enough  become  ac 
quainted,  and  his  connection  with  such  values  as 
she  would  then  find  noted  could  scarce  help  grow 
ing,  as  it  were,  still  more  residuary.  Charming 
people,  conscious  Venice-lovers,  evidently,  had 
given  up  their  house  to  her,  and  had  fled  to  a  dis 
tance,  to  other  countries,  to  hide  their  blushes  alike 
over  what  they  had,  however  briefly,  alienated,  and 
over  what  they  had,  however  durably,  gained. 
They  had  preserved  and  consecrated,  and  she  now 
— her  part  of  it  was  shameless — appropriated  and 

148 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

enjoyed.  Palazzo  Leporelli  held  its  history  still  in  its 
great  lap,  even  like  a  painted  idol,  a  solemn  puppet 
hung  about  with  decorations.  Hung  about  with 
pictures  and  relics,  the  rich  Venetian  past,  the  in 
effaceable  character,  was  here  the  presence  revered 
and  served :  which  brings  us  back  to  our  truth  of 
a  moment  ago — the  fact  that,  more  than  ever,  this 
October  morning,  awkward  novice  though  she 
might  be,  Milly  moved  slowly  to  and  fro  as  the 
priestess  of  the  worship.  Certainly  it  came  from 
the  sweet  taste  of  solitude,  caught  again  and  cher 
ished  for  the  hour;  always  a  need  of  her  nature, 
moreover,  when  things  spoke  to  her  with  penetra 
tion.  It  was  mostly  in  stillness  that  they  spoke  to 
her  best;  amid  voices  she  lost  the  sense.  Voices  had 
surrounded  her  for  weeks,  and  she  had  tried  to  listen, 
had  cultivated  them  and  had  answered  back;  these 
had  been  weeks  in  which  there  were  other  things 
they  might  well  prevent  her  from  hearing.  More 
than  the  prospect  had  at  first  promised  or  threat 
ened,  she  had  felt  herself  going  on  in  a  crowd  and 
with  a  multiplied  escort;  the  four  ladies  pictured  by 
her  to  Sir  Luke  Strett  as  a  phalanx  comparatively 
closed  and  detached  had  in  fact  proved  a  rolling 
snowball,  condemned  from  day  to  day  to  cover  more 
ground.  Susan  Shepherd  had  compared  this  por 
tion  of  the  girl's  excursion  to  the  Empress  Cather 
ine's  famous  progress  across  the  steppes  of  Russia; 
improvised  settlements  appeared  at  each  turn  of  the 
road,  villagers  waiting  with  addresses  drawn  up  in 

149 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

the  language  of  London.  Old  friends,  in  fine,  were 
in  ambush,  Mrs.  Lowder's,  Kate  Croy's,  her  own; 
when  the  addresses  were  not  in  the  language  of  Lon 
don  they  were  in  the  more  insistent  idioms  of  the 
American  centres.  The  current  was  swollen  even 
by  Susie's  social  connections;  so  that  there  were 
days,  at  hotels,  at  Dolomite  picnics,  on  lake 
steamers,  when  she  could  almost  repay  to  Aunt 
Maud  and  Kate,  with  interest,  the  debt  contracted 
by  the  London  "  success  "  to  which  they  had  opened 
the  door. 

Mrs.  Lowder's  success  and  Kate's,  amid  the  shock 
of  Milly's  and  Mrs.  Stringham's  compatriots,  failed 
but  little,  really,  of  the  concert-pitch;  it  had  gone 
almost  as  fast  as  the  boom,  over  the  sea,  of  the  last 
great  native  novel.  Those  ladies  were  "  so  differ 
ent  " — different,  observably  enough,  from  the  ladies 
so  appraising  them;  it  being,  throughout,  a  case 
mainly  of  ladies,  of  a  dozen  at  once,  sometimes,  in 
Milly's  apartment,  pointing,  also  at  once,  that  moral 
and  many  others.  Milly's  companions  were  ac 
claimed  not  only  as  perfectly  fascinating  in  them 
selves,  the  nicest  people  yet  known  to  the  ac- 
claimers,  but  as  obvious  helping  hands,  socially 
speaking,  for  the  eccentric  young  woman,  evident 
initiators  and  smoothers  of  her  path,  possible  sub- 
duers  of  her  eccentricity.  Short  intervals,  to  her 
own  sense,  stood  now  for  great  differences,  and 
this  renewed  inhalation  of  her  native  air  had  some 
how  left  her  to  feel  that  she  already,  that  she  mainly, 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

struck  the  compatriot  as  queer  and  dissociated. 
She  moved  such  a  critic,  it  would  appear,  as  to 
rather  an  odd  suspicion,  a  benevolence  induced  by 
a  want  of  complete  trust :  all  of  which  showed  her 
in  the  light  of  a  person  too  plain  and  too  ill-clothed 
for  a  thorough  good  time,  and  yet  too  rich  and  too 
befriended — an  intuitive  cunning  within  her  man 
aging  this  last — for  a  thorough  bad  one.  The  com 
patriots,  in  short,  by  what  she  made  out,  approved 
her  friends  for  their  expert  wisdom  with  her;  in 
spite  of  which  judicial  sagacity  it  was  the  compat 
riots  who  recorded  themselves  as  the  innocent 
parties.  She  saw  things  in  these  days  that  she  had 
never  seen  before,  and  she  couldn't  have  said  why 
save  on  a  principle  too  terrible  to  name;  whereby 
she  saw  that  neither  Lancaster  Gate  was  what  New 
York  took  it  for,  nor  New  York  what  Lancaster 
Gate  fondly  fancied  it  in  coquetting  with  the  plan 
of  a  series  of  American  visits.  The  plan  might  have 
been,  humorously,  on  Mrs.  Lowder's  part,  for  the 
improvement  of  her  social  position — and  it  had 
verily,  in  that  direction,  lights  that  were  perhaps 
but  half-a-century  too  prompt;  at  all  of  which  Kate 
Croy  assisted  with  the  cool,  controlled  facility  that 
went  so  well,  as  the  others  said,  with  her  particular 
kind  of  good  looks,  the  kind  that  led  you  to  expect 
the  person  enjoying  them  would  dispose  of  disputa 
tions,  speculations,  aspirations,  in  a  few  very  neatly 
and  brightly  uttered  words,  so  simplified  in  sense, 
however,  that  they  sounded,  even  when  guiltless, 

15* 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

like  rather  aggravated  slang.  It  wasn't  that  Kate 
hadn't  pretended  too  that  she  would  like  to  go  to 
America;  it  was  only  that  with  this  young  woman 
Milly  had  constantly  proceeded,  and  more  than  ever 
of  late,  on  the  theory  of  intimate  confessions,  pri 
vate,  frank  ironies  that  made  up  for  their  public 
grimaces  and  amid  which,  face  to  face,  they  wearily 
put  off  the  mask. 

These  puttings-off  of  the  mask  had  finally  quite 
become  the  form  taken  by  their  moments  together, 
moments  indeed  not  increasingly  frequent  and  not 
prolonged,  thanks  to  the  consciousness  of  fatigue 
on  Milly's  side  whenever,  as  she  herself  expressed  it, 
she  got  out  of  harness.  They  flourished  their 
masks,  the  independent  pair,  as  they  might  have 
flourished  Spanish  fans;  they  smiled  and  sighed  on 
removing  them;  but  the  gesture,  the  smiles,  the 
sighs,  strangely  enough,  might  have  been  suspected 
the  greatest  reality  in  the  business.  Strangely 
enough,  we  say,  for  the  volume  of  effusion  in  general 
would  have  been  found  by  either  on  measurement 
to  be  scarce  proportional  to  the  paraphernalia  of 
relief.  It  was  when  they  called  each  other's  atten 
tion  to  their  ceasing  to  pretend,  it  was  then  that 
what  they  were  keeping  back  was  most  in  the  air. 
There  was  a  difference,  no  doubt,  and  mainly  to 
Kate's  advantage:  Milly  didn't  quite  see  what  her 
friend  could  keep  back,  was  possessed  of,  in  fine, 
that  would  be  so  subject  to  retention;  whereas  it 
was  comparatively  plain  sailing  for  Kate  that  poor 

152 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

Milly  had  a  treasure  to  hide.  This  was  not  the 
treasure  of  a  shy,  abject  affection — concealment,  on 
that  head,  belonging  to  quite  another  phase  of  such 
states;  it  was  much  rather  a  principle  of  pride  rela 
tively  bold  and  hard,  a  principle  that  played  up  like 
a  fine  steel  spring  at  the  lightest  pressure  of  too  near 
a  footfall.  Thus  insuperably  guarded  was  the  truth 
about  the  girl's  own  conception  of  her  validity;  thus 
was  a  wondering,  pitying  sister  condemned  wist 
fully  to  look  at  her  from  the  far  side  of  the  moat  she 
had  dug  round  her  tower.  Certain  aspects  of  the 
connection  of  these  young  women  show  for  us,  such 
is  the  twilight  that  gathers  about  them,  in  the  like 
ness  of  some  dim  scene  in  a  Maeterlinck  play;  we 
have  positively  the  image,  in  the  delicate  dusk,  of 
the  figures  so  associated  and  yet  so  opposed,  so 
mutually  watchful :  that  of  the  angular,  pale  prin 
cess,  ostrich-plumed,  black  robed,  hung  about  with 
amulets,  reminders,  relics,  mainly  seated,  mainly 
still,  and  that  of  the  upright,  restless,  slow-circling 
lady  of  her  court,  who  exchanges  with  her,  across 
the  black  water  streaked  with  evening  gleams,  fitful 
questions  and  answers.  The  upright  lady,  with 
thick,  dark  braids  down  her  back,  drawing  over  the 
grass  a  more  embroidered  train,  makes  the  whole 
circuit,  and  makes  it  again,  and  the  broken  talk, 
brief  and  sparingly  allusive,  seems  more  to  cover 
than  to  free  their  sense.  This  is  because,  when  it 
fairly  comes  to  not  having  others  to  consider,  they 
meet  in  an  air  that  appears  rather  anxiously  to  wait 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

for  their  words.  Such  an  impression  as  that  was  in 
fact  grave,  and  might  be  tragic;  so  that,  plainly 
enough,  systematically  at  last,  they  settled  to  a  care 
of  what  they  said. 

There  could  be  no  gross  phrasing  to  Milly,  in 
particular,  of  the  probability  that  if  she  wasn't  so 
proud  she  might  be  pitied  with  more  comfort — 
more  to  the  person  pitying;  there  could  be  no 
spoken  proof,  no  sharper  demonstration  than  the 
consistently  considerate  attitude,  that  this  marvel 
lous  mixture  of  her  weakness  and  of  her  strength, 
her  peril,  if  such  it  were,  and  her  option,  made  her, 
kept  her,  irresistibly  interesting.  Kate's  predica 
ment  in  the  matter  was,  after  all,  very  much  Mrs. 
Stringham's  own,  and  Susan  Shepherd  herself  in 
deed,  in  our  Maeterlinck  picture,  might  well  have 
hovered  in  the  gloaming  by  the  moat.  It  may  be 
declared  for  Kate,  at  all  events,  that  her  sincerity 
about  her  friend,  through  this  time,  was  deep,  her 
compassionate  imagination  strong;  and  that  these 
things  gave  her  a  virtue,  a  good  conscience,  a  cred 
ibility  for  herself,  so  to  speak,  that  were  later  to  be 
precious  to  her.  She  grasped  with  her  keen  intel 
ligence  the  logic  of  their  common  duplicity,  went 
unassisted  through  the  same  ordeal  as  Milly's  other 
hushed  follower,  easily  saw  that  for  the  girl  to  be 
explicit  was  to  betray  divinations,  gratitudes, 
glimpses  of  the  felt  contrast  between  her  fortune  and 
her  fear — all  of  which  would  have  contradicted  her 
systematic  bravado.  That  was  it,  Kate  wondering- 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

ly  saw:  to  recognise  was  to  bring  down  the  ava 
lanche — the  avalanche  Milly  lived  so  in  watch  for 
and  that  might  be  started  by  the  lightest  of  breaths; 
though  less  possibly  the  breath  of  her  own  stifled 
plaint  than  that  of  the  vain  sympathy,  the  mere  help 
less,  gaping  inference  of  others.  With  so  many  sup 
pressions  as  these,  therefore,  between  them,  their 
withdrawal  together  to  unmask  had  to  fall  back,  as 
we  have  hinted,  on  a  nominal  motive — which  was 
decently  represented  by  a  joy  at  the  drop  of  chatter. 
Chatter  had  in  truth  all  along  attended  their  steps, 
but  they  took  the  despairing  view  of  it  on  purpose 
to  have  ready,  when  face  to  face,  some  view  or  other 
of  something.  The  relief  of  getting  out  of  harness 
— that  was  the  moral  of  their  meetings;  but  the 
moral  of  this,  in  turn,  was  that  they  couldn't  so  much 
as  ask  each  other  why  harness  need  be  worn.  Milly 
wore  it  as  a  general  armour. 

She  was  out  of  it  at  present,  for  some  reason,  as 
she  had  not  been  for  weeks;  she  was  always  out  of 
it,  that  is,  when  alone,  and  her  companions  had 
never  yet  so  much  as  just  now  affected  her  as  dis 
persed  and  suppressed.  It  was  as  if  still  again,  still 
more  tacitly  and  wonderfully,  Eugenio  had  under 
stood  her,  taking  it  from  her  without  a  word,  and 
just  bravely  and  brilliantly  in  the  name,  for  instance, 
of  the  beautiful  day:  "  Yes,  get  me  an  hour  alone; 
take  them  off — I  don't  care  where;  absorb,  amuse, 
detain  them ;  drown  them,  kill  them  if  you  will :  so 
that  I  may  just  a  little,  all  by  myself,  see  where  I 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

am."  She  was  conscious  of  the  dire  impatience  of 
it,  for  she  gave  up  Susie  as  well  as  the  others  to  him 
— Susie  who  would  have  drowned  her  very  self  for 
her;  gave  her  up  to  a  mercenary  monster  through 
whom  she  thus  purchased  respites.  Strange  were 
the  turns  of  life  and  the  moods  of  weakness;  strange 
the  flickers  of  fancy  and  the  cheats  of  hope;  yet  law 
ful,  all  the  same — weren't  they? — those  experiments 
tried  with  the  truth  that  consisted,  at  the  worst,  but 
in  practising  on  one's  self.  She  was  now  playing 
with  the  thought  that  Eugenio  might  inclusively 
assist  her :  he  had  brought  home  to  her,  and  always 
by  remarks  that  were  really  quite  soundless,  the  con 
ception,  hitherto  ungrasped,  of  some  complete  use 
of  her  wealth  itself,  some  use  of  it  as  a  counter-move 
to  fate.  It  had  passed  between  them  as  preposter 
ous  that  with  so  much  money  she  should  just  stupid 
ly  and  awkwardly  want — any  more  want  a  life,  a  ca 
reer,  a  consciousness,  than  want  a  house,  a  carriage, 
or  a  cook.  It  was  as  if  she  had  had  from  him  a  kind 
of  expert  professional  measure  of  what  he  was  in  a 
position,  at  a  stretch,  to  undertake  for  her;  the  thor 
oughness  of  which,  for  that  matter,  she  could  closely 
compare  with  a  looseness  on  Sir  Luke  Strett's  part 
that — at  least  in  Palazzo  Leporelli,  when  mornings 
were  fine — showed  as  almost  amateurish.  Sir  Luke 
hadn't  said  to  her  "  Pay  enough  money  and  leave 
the  rest  to  me  " — which  was  distinctly  what  Eu 
genio  did  say.  Sir  Luke  had  appeared  indeed  to 
speak  of  purchase  and  payment,  but  in  reference  to 

156 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

a  different  sort  of  cash.  Those  were  amounts  not 
to  be  named  nor  reckoned,  and  such  moreover  as 
she  wasn't  sure  of  having  at  her  command.  Eu 
genic — this  was  the  difference — could  name,  could 
reckon,  and  prices  of  his  kind  were  things  she  had 
never  suffered  to  scare  her.  She  had  been  willing, 
goodness  knew,  to  pay  enough  for  anything,  for 
everything,  and  here  was  simply  a  new  view  of  the 
sufficient  quantity.  She  amused  herself — for  it 
came  to  that,  since  Eugenic  was  there  to  sign  the 
receipt — with  possibilities  of  meeting  the  bill.  She 
was  more  prepared  than  ever  to  pay  enough,  and 
quite  as  much  as  ever  to  pay  too  much.  What  else 
— if  such  were  points  at  which  your  most  trusted 
servant  failed — was  the  use  of  being,  as  the  dear 
Susies  of  earth  called  you,  a  princess  in  a  palace? 

She  made  now,  alone,  the  full  circuit  of  the  place, 
noble  and  peaceful  while  the  summer  sea,  stirring 
here  and  there  a  curtain  or  an  outer  blind,  breathed 
into  its  veiled  spaces.  She  had  a  vision  of  clinging 
to  it;  that  perhaps  Eugenic  could  manage.  She 
was  in  it,  as  in  the  ark  of  her  deluge,  and  filled  with 
such  a  tenderness  for  it  that  why  shouldn't  this,  in 
common  mercy,  be  warrant  enough?  She  would 
never,  never  leave  it — she  would  engage  to  that; 
would  ask  nothing  more  than  to  sit  tight  in  it  and 
float  on  and  on.  The  beauty  and  intensity,  the  real 
momentary  relief  of  this  conceit,  reached  their  cli 
max  in  the  positive  purpose  to  put  the  question  to 
Eugenic  on  his  return  as  she  had  not  yet  put  it; 


THE   WINGS  OF   THE   DOVE 

though  the  design,  it  must  be  added,  dropped  a  lit 
tle  when,  coming  back  to  the  great  saloon  from 
which  she  had  started  on  her  pensive  progress,  she 
found  Lord  Mark,  of  whose  arrival  in  Venice  she 
had  been  unaware,  and  who  had  now — while  a  ser 
vant  was  following  her  through  empty  rooms — been 
asked,  in  her  absence,  to  wait.  He  had  waited  then, 
Lord  Mark,  he  was  waiting — oh,  unmistakably; 
never  before  had  he  so  much  struck  her  as  the  man 
to  do  that  on  occasion  with  patience,  to  do  it  indeed 
almost  as  with  gratitude  for  the  chance,  though  at 
the  same  time  with  a  sort  of  notifying  firmness. 
The  odd  thing,  as  she  was  afterwards  to  recall,  was 
that  her  wonder  for  what  had  brought  him  was  not 
immediate,  but  had  come  at  the  end  of  five  minutes; 
and  also,  quite  incoherently,  that  she  felt  almost 
as  glad  to  see  him,  and  almost  as  forgiving  of  his 
interruption  of  her  solitude,  as  if  he  had  already  been 
in  her  thought  or  acting  at  her  suggestion.  He  was 
somehow,  at  the  best,  the  end  of  a  respite;  one 
might  like  him  very  much,  and  yet  feel  that  his  pres 
ence  tempered  precious  solitude  more  than  any 
other  known  to  one :  in  spite  of  all  of  which,  as  he 
had  neither  dear  Susie,  nor  dear  Kate,  nor  dear  Aunt 
Maud,  nor  even,  for  the  least,  dear  Eugenio  in  per 
son,  the  sight  of  him  did  no  damage  to  her  sense 
of  the  dispersal  of  her  friends.  She  had  not  been 
so  thoroughly  alone  with  him  since  those  moments 
of  his  showing  her  the  great  portrait  at  Matcham, 
the  moments  that  had  exactly  made  the  high-water- 

158 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

mark  of  her  security,  the  moments  during  which 
her  tears  themselves,  those  she  had  been  ashamed 
of,  were  the  sign  of  her  consciously  rounding  her 
protective  promontory,  quitting  the  blue  gulf  of 
comparative  ignorance  and  reaching  her  view  of  the 
troubled  sea.  His  presence  now  referred  itself  to 
his  presence  then,  reminding  her  how  kind  he  had 
been,  altogether,  at  Matcham,  and  telling  her,  unex 
pectedly,  at  a  time  when  she  could  particularly  feel 
it,  that,  for  such  kindness,  and  for  the  beauty  of 
what  they  remembered  together,  she  hadn't  lost 
him — quite  the  contrary.  To  receive  him  hand 
somely,  to  receive  him  there,  to  see  him  interested 
and  charmed,  as  well,  clearly,  as  delighted  to  have 
found  her  without  some  other  person  to  spoil  it — 
these  things  were  so  pleasant,  for  the  first  minutes, 
that  they  might  have  represented  on  her  part  some 
happy  foreknowledge. 

She  gave  an  account  of  her  companions,  while 
he,  on  his  side,  failed  to  press  her  about  them,  even 
though  describing  his  appearance,  so  unheralded,  as 
the  result  of  an  impulse  obeyed  on  the  spot.  He 
had  been  shivering  at  Carlsbad,  belated  there  and 
blue,  when  taken  by  it;  so  that,  knowing  where 
they  all  were,  he  had  simply  caught  the  first  train. 
He  explained  how  he  had  known  where  they  were; 
he  had  heard — what  more  natural? — from  their 
friends,  Milly's  and  his.  He  mentioned  this  be 
times,  but  it  was  with  his  mention,  singularly,  that 
the  girl  became  conscious  of  her  inner  question 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

about  his  reason.  She  noticed  his  plural,  which 
added  to  Mrs.  Lowder,  or  added  to  Kate;  but  she 
presently  noticed  also  that  it  didn't  affect  her  as  ex 
plaining.  Aunt  Maud  had  written  to  him;  Kate 
apparently — and  this  was  interesting — had  written 
to  him;  but  their  design  presumably  hadn't  been 
that  he  should  come  and  sit  there  as  if  rather  re 
lieved,  so  far  as  they  were  concerned,  at  postpone 
ments.  He  only  said  "Oh!"  and  again  "Oh!" 
when  she  sketched  their  probable  morning  for  him, 
under  Eugenie's  care  and  Mrs.  Stringham's  — 
sounding  it  quite  as  if  any  suggestion  that  he  should 
overtake  them  at  the  Rialto  or  the  Bridge  of  Sighs 
would  leave  him  temporarily  cold.  This  precisely 
it  was  that,  after  a  little,  operated  for  Milly  as  an  ob 
scure  but  still  fairly  direct  check  to  confidence.  He 
had  known  where  they  all  were  from  the  others, 
but  it  was  not  for  the  others  that,  in  his  actual  dis 
positions,  he  had  come.  That,  strange  to  say,  was 
a  pity;  for,  stranger  still  to  say,  she  could  have 
shown  him  more  confidence  if  he  himself  had  had 
less  intention.  His  intention  so  chilled  her,  from 
the  moment  she  found  herself  divining  it,  that,  just 
for  the  pleasure  of  going  on  with  him  fairly,  just  for 
the  pleasure  of  their  remembrance  together  of 
Matcham  and  the  Bronzino,  the  climax  of  her  fort 
une,  she  could  have  fallen  to  pleading  with  him  and 
to  reasoning,  to  undeceiving  him  in  time.  There 
had  been,  for  ten  minutes,  with  the  directness  of  her 
welcome  to  him  and  the  way  this  clearly  pleased 

1 60 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

him,  something  of  the  grace  of  amends  made,  even 
though  he  couldn't  know  it — amends  for  her  not 
having  been  originally  sure,  for  instance  at  that  first 
dinner  of  Aunt  Maud's,  that  he  was  adequately 
human.  That  first  dinner  of  Aunt  Maud's  added 
itself  to  the  hour  at  Matcham,  added  itself  to  other 
things,  to  consolidate,  for  her  present  benevolence, 
the  ease  of  their  relation,  making  it  suddenly  de 
lightful  that  he  had  thus  turned  up.  He  exclaimed, 
as  he  looked  about,  on  the  charm  of  the  place: 
"  What  a  temple  to  taste  and  an  expression  of  the 
pride  of  life,  yet,  with  all  that,  what  a  jolly  home! " 
— so  that,  for  his  entertainment,  she  could  offer  to 
walk  him  about,  though  she  mentioned  that  she  had 
just  been,  for  her  own  purposes,  in  a  general  prowl, 
taking  everything  in  more  susceptibly  than  before. 
He  embraced  her  offer  without  a  scruple  and 
seemed  to  rejoice  that  he  was  to  find  her  sus 
ceptible. 


VOL.  ii.— ii  ,6r 


XXV 

SHE  couldn't  have  said  what  it  was,  in  the  condi 
tions,  that  renewed  the  whole  solemnity,  but  by  the 
end  of  twenty  minutes  a  kind  of  wistful  hush  had 
fallen  upon  them,  as  if  before  something  poignant 
in  which  her  visitor  also  participated.  That  was 
nothing,  verily,  but  the  perfection  of  the  charm — or 
nothing,  rather,  but  their  excluded,  disinherited 
state  in  the  presence  of  it.  The  charm  turned  on 
them  a  face  that  was  cold  in  its  beauty,  that  was  full 
of  a  poetry  never  to  be  theirs,  that  spoke,  with  an 
ironic  smile,  of  a  possible  but  forbidden  life.  It  all 
rolled  afresh  over  Milly :  "  Oh,  the  impossible  ro 
mance !  "  The  romance  for  her,  yet  once 

more,  would  be  to  sit  there  for  ever,  through  all  her 
time,  as  in  a  fortress;  and  the  idea  became  an  image 
of  never  going  down,  of  remaining  aloft  in  the 
divine,  dustless  air,  where  she  would  hear  but  the 
plash  of  the  water  against  stone.  The  great  floor 
on  which  they  moved  was  at  an  altitude,  and  this 
prompted  the  rueful  fancy.  "  Ah,  not  to  go  down 
— never,  never  to  go  down !  "  she  strangely  sighed 
to  her  friend. 

"  But  why  shouldn't  you,"  he  asked,  "  with  that 
tremendous  old  staircase  in  your  court?  There 
ought  of  course  always  to  be  people  at  top  and  bot 
tom,  in  Veronese  costumes,  to  watch  you  do  it." 

162 


THE  WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

She  shook  her  head  both  lightly  and  mournfully 
enough  at  his  not  understanding.  "  Not  even  for 
people  in  Veronese  costumes.  I  mean  that  the 
positive  beauty  is  that  one  needn't  go  down.  I 
don't  move  in  fact,"  she  added — "  now.  I've  not 
been  out,  you  know.  I  stay  up.  That's  how  you 
happily  found  me." 

Lord  Mark  wondered — he  was,  oh  yes,  adequate 
ly  human.  "  You  don't  go  about?  " 

She  looked  over  the  place,  the  storey  above  the 
apartments  in  which  she  had  received  him,  the  sala 
corresponding  to  the  sala  below  and  fronting  the 
great  canal  with  its  gothic  arches.  The  casements 
between  the  arches  were  open,  the  ledge  of  the  bal 
cony  broad,  the  sweep  of  the  canal,  so  overhung, 
admirable,  and  the  flutter  toward  them  of  the  loose 
white  curtain  an  invitation  to  she  scarce  could  have 
said  what.  But  there  was  no  mystery,  after  a  mo 
ment;  she  had  never  felt  so  invited  to  anything  as 
to  make  that,  and  that  only,  just  where  she  was,  her 
adventure.  It  would  be — to  this  it  kept  coming 
back — the  adventure  of  not  stirring.  "  I  go  about 
just  here." 

"  Do  you  mean,"  Lord  Mark  presently  asked, 
"  that  you're  really  not  well?  " 

They  were  at  the  window,  pausing,  lingering, 
with  the  fine  old  faded  palaces  opposite  and  the  slow 
Adriatic  tide  beneath;  but  after  a  minute,  and  be 
fore  she  answered,  she  had  closed  her  eyes  to  what 
she  saw  and,  unresistingly,  dropped  her  face  into  her 

163 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

arms,  which  rested  on  the  coping.  She  had  fallen 
to  her  knees  on  the  cushion  of  the  window-place, 
and  she  leaned  there,  in  a  long  silence,  with  her 
forehead  down.  She  knew  that  her  silence  was  it 
self  too  straight  an  answer,  but  it  was  beyond  her 
now  to  say  that  she  saw  her  way.  She  would  have 
made  the  question  itself  impossible  to  others — im 
possible,  for  example,  to  such  a  man  as  Merton  Den- 
sher;  and  she  could  wonder  even  on  the  spot  what 
it  was  a  sign  of  in  her  feeling  for  Lord  Mark  that, 
from  his  lips,  it  almost  tempted  her  to  break  down. 
This  was  doubtless  really  because  she  cared  for  him 
so  little;  to  let  herself  go  with  him  thus,  suffer  his 
touch  to  make  her  cup  overflow,  would  be  the  relief 
— since  it  was  actually,  for  her  nerves,  a  question  of 
relief — that  would  cost  her  least.  If  he  had  come 
to  her  moreover  with  the  intention  she  believed, 
or  even  if  this  intention  had  but  been  determined  in 
him  by  the  spell  of  their  situation,  he  mustn't  be  mis 
taken  about  her  value — for  what  value  did  she  now 
have?  It  throbbed  within  her  as  she  knelt  there 
that  she  had  none  at  all;  though,  holding  herself, 
not  yet  speaking,  she  tried,  even  in  the  act,  to  re 
cover  what  might  be  possible  of  it.  With  that  there 
came  to  her  a  light :  wouldn't  her  value,  for  the  man 
who  should  marry  her,  be  precisely  in  the  ravage  of 
her  disease?  She  mightn't  last,  but  her  money 
would.  For  a  man  in  whom  the  vision  of  her 
money  should  be  intense,  in  whom  it  should  be  most 
of  the  ground  for  "  making  up  "  to  her,  any  pro- 

164 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

spective  failure  on  her  part  to  be  long  for  this  world 
might  easily  count  as  a  positive  attraction.  Such 
a  man,  proposing  to  please,  persuade,  secure  her, 
appropriate  her  for  such  a  time,  shorter  or  longer, 
as  nature  and  the  doctors  should  allow,  would  make 
the  best  of  her,  ill,  damaged,  disagreeable  though 
she  might  be,  for  the  sake  of  eventual  benefits :  she 
being  clearly  a  person  of  the  sort  esteemed  likely  to 
do  the  handsome  thing  by  a  stricken  and  sorrowing 
husband. 

She  had  said  to  herself  betimes,  in  a  general  way, 
that  whatever  habits  her  youth  might  form,  that  of 
seeing  an  interested  suitor  in  every  bush  should  cer 
tainly  never  grow  to  be  one  of  them — an  attitude 
she  had  early  judged  as  ignoble,  as  poisonous.  She 
had  had  accordingly,  in  fact,  as  little  to  do  with  it 
as  possible,  and  she  scarce  knew  why,  at  the  present 
moment,  she  should  have  had  to  catch  herself  in  the 
act  of  imputing  an  ugly  motive.  It  didn't  sit,  the 
ugly  motive,  in  Lord  Mark's  cool  English  eyes;  the 
darker  side  of  it,  at  any  rate,  showed,  to  her  imagi 
nation,  but  briefly.  Suspicion  moreover,  with  this, 
simplified  itself:  there  was  a  beautiful  reason — in 
deed  there  were  two — why  her  companion's  motive 
shouldn't  matter.  One  was  that  even  should  he 
desire  her  without  a  penny  she  wouldn't  marry  him 
for  the  world ;  the  other  was  that  she  felt  him,  after 
all,  perceptively,  kindly,  very  pleasantly  and  human 
ly,  concerned  for  her.  They  were  also  two  things, 
his  wishing  to  be  well,  to  be  very  well,  with  her,  and 

'65 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

his  beginning  to  feel  her  as  threatened,  haunted, 
blighted;  but  they  were  melting  together  for  him, 
making  him,  by  their  combination,  only  the  more 
sure  that,  as  he  probably  called  it  to  himself,  he  liked 
her.  That  was  presently  what  remained  with  her — 
his  really  doing  it;  and  with  the  natural  and  proper 
incident  of  being  conciliated  by  her  weakness. 
Would  she  really  have  had  him — she  could  ask  her 
self  that — disconcerted  or  disgusted  by  it?  If  he 
could  only  be  touched  enough  to  do  what  she  pre 
ferred,  not  to  raise,  not  to  press  any  question,  he 
might  render  her  a  much  better  service  than  by 
merely  enabling  her  to  refuse  him.  Again,  again  it 
was  strange,  but  he  figured  to  her  for  the  moment  as 
the  one  safe  sympathiser.  It  would  have  made  her 
worse  to  talk  to  others,  but  she  wasn't  afraid  with 
him  of  how  he  might  wince  and  look  pale.  She 
would  keep  him,  that  is,  her  one  easy  relation — in 
the  sense  of  easy  for  himself.  Their  actual  outlook 
had  meanwhile  such  charm,  what  surrounded  them 
within  and  without  did  so  much  toward  making  ap 
preciative  stillness  as  natural  as  at  the  opera,  that 
she  could  consider  she  had  not  made  him  hang  on 
her  lips  when  at  last,  instead  of  saying  if  she  were 
well  or  ill,  she  repeated :  "  I  go  about  here.  I  don't 
get  tired  of  it.  I  never  should — it  suits  me  so.  I 
adore  the  place,"  she  went  on,  "  and  I  don't  want 
in  the  least  to  give  it  up." 

"  Neither  should  I,  if  I  had  your  luck.     Still,  with 
that  luck,  for  one's  all — !     Should  you  positively 

like  to  live  here?" 

166 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

"  I  think  I  should  like,"  said  poor  Milly  after  an 
instant,  "  to  die  here." 

Which  made  him,  precisely,  laugh.  That  was 
what  she  wanted — when  a  person  did  care:  it  was 
the  pleasant  human  way,  without  depths  of  dark 
ness.  "  Oh,  it's  not  good  enough  for  that!  That 
requires  picking.  But  can't  you  keep  it?  It  is, 
you  know,  the  sort  of  place  to  see  you  in;  you  carry 
out  the  note,  fill  it,  people  it,  quite  by  yourself,  and 
you  might  do  much  worse — I  mean  for  your  friends 
— than  show  yourself  here  a  while,  three  or  four 
months,  every  year.  But  it's  not  my  notion  for  the 
rest  of  the  time.  One  has  quite  other  uses  for  you." 

"  What  sort  of  a  use  for  me  is  it,"  she  smilingly 
inquired,  "to  kill  me?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  we  should  kill  you  in  England?  " 

"  Well,  I've  seen  you,  and  I'm  afraid.  You're  too 
much  for  me — too  many.  England  bristles  with 
questions.  This  is  more,  as  you  say  there,  my 
form." 

"  Oho,  oho !  " — he  laughed  again  as  if  to  humour 
her.  "  Can't  you  then  buy  it — for  a  price?  De 
pend  upon  it  that  they'll  treat,  for  money.  That  is, 
for  money  enough." 

"  I've  exactly,"  she  said,  "  been  wondering  if  they 
won't.  I  think  I  shall  try.  But  if  I  get  it  I  shall 
cling  to  it."  They  were  talking  sincerely.  "  It  will 
be  my  life — paid  for  as  that.  It  will  become  my 
great  gilded  shell;  so  that  those  who  wish  to  find 
me  must  come  and  hunt  me  up." 

167 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

"  Ah  then,  you  will  be  alive,"  said  Lord  Mark. 

"  Well,  not  quite  extinct  perhaps,  but  shrunken, 
wasted,  wizened;  rattling  about  here  like  the  dried 
kernel  of  a  nut." 

"  Oh,"  Lord  Mark  returned,  "  we,  much  as  you 
mistrust  us,  can  do  better  for  you  than  that." 

"  In  the  sense  that  you'll  feel  it  better  for  me 
really  to  have  it  over?  " 

He  let  her  see  now  that  she  worried  him,  and  after 
a  look  at  her,  of  some  duration,  without  his  glasses 
— which  always  altered  the  expression  of  his  eyes — 
he  re-settled  the  nippers  on  his  nose  and  went  back 
to  the  view.  But  the  view,  in  turn,  soon  enough 
released  him.  "  Do  you  remember  something  I 
said  to  you  that  day  at  Matcham — or  at  least  fully 
meant  to?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  remember  everything  at  Matcham. 
It's  another  life." 

"  Certainly  it  will  be — I  mean  the  kind  of  thing : 
what  I  then  wanted  it  to  represent  for  you. 
Matcham,  you  know,"  he  continued,  "  is  symbolic. 
I  think  I  tried  to  rub  that  into  you  a  little." 

She  met  him  with  the  full  memory  of  what  he  had 
tried — not  an  inch,  not  an  ounce  of  which  was  lost 
to  her.  "  What  I  meant  is  that  it  seems  a  hundred 
years  ago." 

"  Oh,  for  me  it  comes  in  better.  Perhaps  a  part 
of  what  makes  me  remember  it,"  he  pursued,  "  is 
that  I  was  quite  aware  of  what  might  have  been  said 
about  what  I  was  doing.  I  wanted  you  to  take  it 

1 68 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

from  me  that  I  should  perhaps  be  able  to  look  after 
you — well,  rather  better.  Rather  better,  of  course, 
than  certain  other  persons  in  particular." 

"  Precisely — than  Mrs.  Lowder,  than  Miss  Croy, 
even  than  Mrs.  Stringham." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Stringham's  all  right !  "  Lord  Mark 
promptly  amended. 

It  amused  her,  even  with  what  she  had  else  to 
think  of;  and  she  could  show  him,  at  all  events,  how 
little,  in  spite  of  the  hundred  years,  she  had  lost  what 
he  alluded  to.  The  way  he  was  with  her  at  this  mo 
ment  made  in  fact  the  other  moment  so  vivid  as 
almost  to  start  again  the  tears  it  had  started  at  the 
time.  "  You  could  do  so  much  for  me,  yes.  I  per 
fectly  understood  you." 

"  I  wanted,  you  see,"  he  all  the  same  explained, 
"  to  fix  your  confidence;  I  mean,  you  know,  in  the 
right  place." 

"Well,  Lord  Mark,  you  did — it's  just  exactly 
now,  my  confidence,  where  you  put  it  then.  The 
only  difference,"  said  Milly,  "  is  that  I  seem  now  to 
have  no  use  for  it.  Besides,"  she  then  went  on,  "  I 
do  seem  to  feel  you  disposed  to  act  in  a  way  that 
would  undermine  it  a  little." 

He  took  no  more  notice  of  these  last  words  than 
if  she  had  not  said  them,  only  watching  her  at  pres 
ent  as  with  a  gradual  new  light.  "  Are  you  really 
in  any  trouble?  " 

To  this,  on  her  side,  she  gave  no  heed.  Making 
out  his  light  was  a  little  a  light  for  herself.  "  Don't 

169 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

say,  don't  try  to  say,  anything  that's  impossible. 
There  are  much  better  things  you  can  do." 

He  looked  straight  at  it  and  then  straight  over  it. 
"  It's  too  monstrous  that  one  can't  ask  you  as  a 
friend  what  one  wants  so  to  know." 

"  What  is  it  you  want  to  know?  "  She  spoke,  as 
by  a  sudden  turn,  with  a  slight  hardness.  "  Do  you 
want  to  know  if  I'm  badly  ill?  " 

The  sound  of  it  in  truth,  though  from  no  raising 
of  her  voice,  invested  the  idea  with  a  kind  of  terror, 
but  a  terror  all  for  others.  Lord  Mark  winced  and 
flushed — clearly  couldn't  help  it;  but  he  kept  his 
attitude  together  and  spoke  with  even  unwonted 
vivacity.  "  Do  you  imagine  I  can  see  you  suffer 
and  not  say  a  word?  " 

"  You  won't  see  me  suffer — don't  be  afraid.  I 
shan't  be  a  public  nuisance.  That's  why  I  should 
have  liked  this:  it's  so  beautiful  in  itself,  and  yet  it's 
out  of  the  gangway.  You  won't  know  anything 
about  anything,"  she  added;  and  then,  as  if  to  make 
with  decision  an  end,  "  And  you  don't !  No,  not 
even  you."  He  faced  her  through  it  with  the  re 
mains  of  his  expression,  and  she  saw  him  as  clearly 
— for  him — bewildered;  which  made  her  wish  to  be 
sure  not  to  have  been  unkind.  She  would  be  kind 
once  for  all;  that  would  be  the  end.  "  I'm  very 
badly  ill." 

"  And  you  don't  do  anything?  " 

"  I  do  everything.  Everything's  this"  she  smiled; 
"  I'm  doing  it  now.  One  can't  do  more  than  live." 

170 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

"  Ah,  than  live  in  the  right  way,  no.  But  is  that 
what  you  do?  Why  haven't  you  advice?  " 

He  had  looked  about  at  the  rococo  elegance  as  if 
there  were  fifty  things  it  didn't  give  her,  so  that  he 
suggested  with  urgency  the  most  absent.  But  she 
met  his  remedy  with  a  smile.  "  I've  the  best  advice 
in  the  world.  I'm  acting  under  it  now.  I  act  upon 
it  in  receiving  you,  in  talking  with  you  thus.  One 
can't,  as  I  tell  you,  do  more  than  live." 

"  Oh,  live !  "  Lord  Mark  ejaculated. 

"  Well,  it's  immense  for  me."  She  finally  spoke 
as  if  for  amusement;  now  that  she  had  uttered  her 
truth,  that  he  had  learnt  it  from  herself  as  no  one 
had  yet  done,  her  emotion  had,  by  the  fact,  dried  up. 
There  she  was;  but  it  was  as  if  she  would  never 
speak  again.  "  I  shan't,"  she  added,  "  have  missed 
everything." 

"  Why  should  you  have  missed  anything?  "  She 
felt,  as  he  sounded  this,  to  what,  within  the  minute, 
he  had  made  up  his  mind.  "  You're  the  person  in 
the  world  for  whom  that's  least  necessary;  for 
whom  one  would  call  it  in  fact  most  impossible;  for 
whom  '  missing  '  at  all  will  surely  require  an  extraor 
dinary  amount  of  misplaced  goodwill.  Since  you 
believe  in  advice,  for  God's  sake  take  mine.  I  know 
what  you  want." 

Oh,  she  knew  he  would  know  it.  But  she  had 
brought  it  on  herself — or  almost.  Yet  she  spoke 
with  kindness.  "  I  think  I  want  not  to  be  too  much 
worried." 

171 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

"  You  want  to  be  adored."  It  came  at  last 
straight.  "  Nothing  would  worry  you  less.  I 
mean  as  I  shall  do  it.  It  is  so  " — he  firmly  kept  it 
up.  "  You're  not  loved  enough." 

"  Enough  for  what,  Lord  Mark?  " 

"  Why,  to  get  the  full  good  of  it." 

Well,  she  didn't  after  all  moek  at  him.  "  I  see 
what  you  mean.  That  full  good  of  it  which  con 
sists  in  finding  one's  self  forced  to  love  in  re 
turn."  She  had  grasped  it,  but  she  hesitated. 
"  Your  idea  is  that  I  might  find  myself  forced  to  love 
you?" 

"Oh,  'forced' !"     He  was  so  fine  and  so 

expert,  so  awake  to  anything  the  least  ridiculous, 
and  of  a  type  with  which  the  preaching  of  passion 
somehow  so  ill  consorted — he  was  so  much  all  these 
things  that  he  had  absolutely  to  take  account  of 
them  himself.  And  he  did  so,  in  a  single  intonation, 
beautifully.  Milly  liked  him  again,  liked  him  for 
such  shades  as  that,  liked  him  so  that  it  was  woeful 
to  see  him  spoiling  it,  and  still  more  woeful  to  have 
to  rank  him  among  those  minor  charms  of  existence 
that  she  gasped,  at  moments,  to  remember  she  must 
give  up.  "  Is  it  inconceivable  to  you  that  you 
might  try?" 

"  To  be  so  favourably  affected  by  you ?  " 

"  To  believe  in  me.  To  believe  in  me,"  Lord 
Mark  repeated. 

Again  she  hesitated.  "  To  '  try  '  in  return  for 
your  trying?  " 

172 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

"  Oh,  I  shouldn't  have  to !  "  he  quickly  declared. 
The  prompt,  neat  accent,  however,  his  manner  of 
disposing  of  her  question,  failed  of  real  expression, 
as  he  himself,  the  next  moment,  intelligently,  help 
lessly,  almost  comically  saw  —  a  failure  pointed 
moreover  by  the  laugh  into  which  Milly  was  imme 
diately  startled. .  As  a  suggestion  to  her  of  a  heal- 
ing  and  uplifting  passion  it  was  in  truth  deficient; 
it  wouldn't  do  as  the  communication  of  a  force  that 
should  sweep  them  both  away.  And  the  beauty  of 
him  was  that  he  too,  even  in  the  act  of  persuasion, 
of  self-persuasion,  could  understand  that,  and  could 
thereby  show  but  the  better  as  fitting  into  the  pleas 
ant  commerce  of  prosperity.  The  way  she  let  him 
see  that  she  looked  at  him  was  a  thing  to  shut  him 
out,  of  itself,  from  services  of  danger,  a  thing  that 
made  a  discrimination  against  him  never  yet  made — 
made  at  least  to  any  consciousness  of  his  own.  Born 
to  float  in  a  sustaining  air,  this  would  be  his  first  en 
counter  with  a  judgment  formed  in  the  sinister  light 
of  tragedy.  The  gathering  dusk  of  her  personal 
world  presented  itself  to  him,  in  her  eyes,  as  an  ele 
ment  in  which  it  was  vain  for  him  to  pretend  he 
could  find  himself  at  home,  since  it  was  charged  with 
depressions  and  with  dooms,  with  the  chill  of  the 
losing  game.  Almost  without  her  needing  to  speak, 
and  simply  by  the  fact  that  there  could  be,  in  such 
a  case,  no  decent  substitute  for  a  felt  intensity,  he 
had  to  take  it  from  her  that  practically  he  was  afraid 
— whether  afraid  to  protest  falsely  enough,  or  only 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

afraid  of  what  might  be  eventually  disagreeable  in  a 
compromised  alliance,  being  a  minor  question.  She 
believed  she  made  out  besides,  wonderful  girl,  that 
he  had  never  quite  expected  to  have  to  protest, 
about  anything,  beyond  his  natural  convenience — 
more,  in  fine,  than  his  disposition  and  habits,  his  ed 
ucation  as  well,  his  personal  moyens  in  short,  per 
mitted.  His  predicament  was  therefore  one  he 
couldn't  like,  and  also  one  she  willingly  would  have 
spared  him  had  he  not  brought  it  on  himself.  No 
man,  she  was  quite  aware,  could  enjoy  thus  having 
it  from  her  that  he  was  not  good  for  what  she  would 
have  called  her  reality.  It  wouldn't  have  taken 
much  more  to  enable  her  positively  to  make  out  in 
him  that  he  was  virtually  capable  of  hinting — had 
his  innermost  feeling  spoken  —  at  the  propriety 
rather,  in  his  interest,  of  some  cutting  down,  some 
dressing  up,  of  the  offensive  real.  He  would  meet 
that  half-way,  but  the  real  must  also  meet  him. 
Milly's  sense  of  it  for  herself,  which  was  so  conspic 
uously,  so  financially  supported,  couldn't,  or 
wouldn't,  so  accommodate  him,  and  the  perception 
of  that  fairly  showed  in  his  face,  after  a  moment,  like 
the  smart  of  a  blow.  It  had  marked  the  one  min 
ute  during  which  he  could  again  be  touching  to  her. 
By  the  time  he  had  tried  once  more,  after  all,  to  in 
sist,  he  had  quite  ceased  to  be  so. 

By  this  time  she  had  turned  from  their  window  to 
make  a  diversion,  had  walked  him  through  other 
rooms,  appealing  again  to  the  inner  charm  of  the 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

place,  going  even  so  far  for  that  purpose  as  to  point 
afresh  her  independent  moral,  to  repeat  that  if  one 
only  had  such  a  house  for  one's  own  and  loved  it 
and  cherished  it  enough,  it  would  pay  one  back  in 
kind,  would  close  one  in  from  harm.  He  quite 
grasped  for  the  quarter  of  an  hour  the  perch  she  held 
out  to  him — grasped  it  with  one  hand,  that  is,  while 
she  felt  him  attached  to  his  own  clue  with  the  other; 
he  was  by  no  means  either  so  sore  or  so  stupid,  to 
do  him  all  justice,  as  not  to  be  able  to  behave  more 
or  less  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  It  was  one  of 
his  merits,  to  which  she  did  justice  too,  that  both 
his  native  and  his  acquired  notion  of  behaviour 
rested  on  the  general  assumption  that  nothing — 
nothing  to  make  a  deadly  difference  for  him — ever 
could  happen.  It  was,  socially,  a  working  view  like 
another,  and  it  saw  them  easily  enough  through  the 
greater  part  of  the  rest  of  their  adventure.  Down 
stairs,  again,  however,  with  the  limit  of  his  stay  in 
sight,  the  sign  of  his  smarting,  when  all  was  said, 
reappeared  for  her,  breaking  out  moreover,  with  an 
effect  of  strangeness,  in  another  quite  possibly  sin 
cere  allusion  to  her  state  of  health.  He  might,  for 
that  matter,  have  been  seeing  what  he  could  do  in 
the  way  of  making  it  a  grievance  that  she  should 
snub  him  for  a  charity,  on  his  own  part,  exquisitely 
roused.  "  It's  true,  you  know,  all  the  same,  and  I 
don't  care  a  straw  for  your  trying  to  freeze  one  up." 
He  seemed  to  show  her,  poor  man,  bravely,  how 
little  he  cared.  "  Everybody  knows  affection  often 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

makes  things  out  when  indifference  doesn't  notice. 
And  that's  why  I  know  that  /  notice." 

"Are  you  sure  you've  got  it  right?"  the  girl 
smiled.  "  I  thought  rather  that  affection  was  sup 
posed  to  be  blind." 

"  Blind  to  faults,  not  to  beauties,"  Lord  Mark 
promptly  rejoined. 

"  And  are  my  extremely  private  worries,  my  en 
tirely  domestic  complications,  which  I'm  ashamed 
to  have  given  you  a  glimpse  of — are  they  beau 
ties?  " 

"  Yes,  for  those  who  care  for  you — as  everyone 
does.  Everything  about  you  is  a  beauty.  Besides 
which  I  don't  believe,"  he  declared,  "  in  the  serious 
ness  of  what  you  tell  me.  It's  too  absurd  you 
should  have  any  trouble  about  which  something 
can't  be  done.  If  you  can't  get  the  right  thing,  who 
can,  in  all  the  world,  I  should  like  to  know?  You're 
the  first  young  woman  of  your  time.  I  mean  what 
I  say."  He  looked,  to  do  him  justice,  quite  as  if 
he  did;  not  ardent,  but  clear — simply  so  competent, 
in  such  a  position,  to  compare,  that  his  quiet  asser 
tion  had  the  force  not  so  much  perhaps  of  a  tribute 
as  of  a  warrant.  "  We're  all  in  love  with  you.  I'll 
put  it  that  way,  dropping  any  claim  of  my  own,  if 
you  can  bear  it  better.  I  speak  as  one  of  the  lot. 
You  weren't  born  simply  to  torment  us — you  were 
born  to  make  us  happy.  Therefore  you  must  lis 
ten  to  us." 

She  shook  her  head  with  her  slowness,  but  this 
176 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

time  with  all  her  mildness.  "  No,  I  mustn't  listen 
to  you — that's  just  what  I  mustn't  do.  The  reason 
is,  please,  that  it  simply  kills  me.  I  must  be  as  at 
tached  to  you  as  you  will,  since  you  give  that  lovely 
account  of  yourselves.  I  give  you  in  return  the 

fullest  possible  belief  of  what  it  would  be "    And 

she  pulled  up  a  little.  "  I  give  and  give  and  give — 
there  you  are;  stick  to  me  as  close  as  you  like,  and 
see  if  I  don't.  Only  I  can't  listen  or  receive  or  £c 
cept — I  can't  agree.  I  can't  make  a  bargain.  I 
can't  really.  You  must  believe  that  from  me.  It's 
all  I've  wanted  to  say  to  you,  and  why  should  it 
spoil  anything?  " 

He  let  her  question  fall — though  clearly,  it  might 
have  seemed,  because,  for  reasons  or  for  none,  there 
was  so  much  that  was  spoiled.  "  You  want  some 
body  of  your  own."  He  came  back,  whether  in  good 
faith  or  in  bad,  to  that;  and  it  made  her  repeat  her 
headshake.  He  kept  it  up  as  if  his  faith  were  of  the 
best.  '  You  want  somebody,  you  want  somebody." 

She  was  to  wonder  afterwards  if  she  had  not  been, 
at  this  juncture,  on  the  point  of  saying  something 
emphatic  and  vulgar — "  Well,  I  don't  at  all  events 
want  you!"  What  somehow  happened,  however, 
the  pity  of  it  being  greater  than  the  irritation — the 
sadness,  to  her  vivid  sense,  of  his  being  so  painfully 
astray,  wandering  in  a  desert  in  which  there  was 
nothing  to  nourish  him — was  that  his  error  amount 
ed  to  positive  wrongdoing.  She  was  moreover  so 
acquainted  with  quite  another  sphere  of  usefulness 

VOL.  II. -12 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

for  him  that  her  having  suffered  him  to  insist  almost 
convicted  her  of  indelicacy.  Why  hadn't  she 
stopped  him  off  with  her  first  impression  of  his  pur 
pose?  She  could  do  so  now  only  by  the  allusion 
she  had  been  wishing  not  to  make.  "  Do  you  know 
I  don't  think  that  you're  doing  very  right? — and  as 
a  thing  quite  apart,  I  mean,  from  my  listening  to 
you.  That's  not  right  either — except  that  I'm  not 
listening.  You  oughtn't  to  have  come  to  Venice 
to  see  me — and  in  fact  you've  not  come,  and  you 
mustn't  behave  as  if  you  had.  You've  much  older 
friends  than  I,  and  ever  so  much  better.  Really,  if 
you've  come  at  all,  you  can  only  have  come — prop 
erly,  and  if  I  may  say  so  honourably — for  the  best 
one,  as  I  believe  her  to  be,  that  you  have  in  the 
world." 

When  once  she  had  said  it  he  took  it,  oddly 
enough,  as  if  he  had  been  more  or  less  expecting  it. 
Still,  he  looked  at  her  very  hard,  and  they  had  a  mo 
ment  of  this  during  which  neither  pronounced  a 
name,  each  apparently  determined  that  the  other 
should.  It  was  Milly's  fine  coercion,  in  the  event, 
that  was  the  stronger.  "  Miss  Croy?  "  Lord  Mark 
asked. 

It  might  have  been  difficult  to  make  out  that  she 
smiled.  "  Mrs.  Lowder."  He  did  make  out  some 
thing,  and  then  fairly  coloured  for  its  attestation  of 
his  comparative  simplicity.  "  I  call  her  on  the 
whole  the  best.  I  can't  imagine  a  man's  having  a 
better." 

178 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

Still  with  his  eyes  on  her  he  turned  it  over.  "  Do 
you  want  me  to  marry  Mrs.  Lowder?  " 

At  which  it  seemed  to  her  that  it  was  he  who  was 
almost  vulgar !  But  she  wouldn't  in  any  way  have 
that.  "  You  know,  Lord  Mark,  what  I  mean. 
One  isn't  in  the  least  turning  you  out  into  the  cold 
world.  There's  no  cold  world  for  you  at  all,  I 
think,"  she  went  on;  "  nothing  but  a  very  warm  and 
watchful  and  expectant  world  that's  waiting  for  you 
at  any  moment  you  choose  to  take  it  up." 

He  never  budged,  but  they  were  standing  on  the 
polished  concrete  and  he  had  within  a  few  minutes 
possessed  himself  again  of  his  hat.  "  Do  you  want 
me  to  marry  Kate  Croy?  " 

"  Mrs.  Lowder  wants  it — I  do  no  wrong,  I  think, 
in  saying  that;  and  she  understands  moreover  that 
you  know  she  does." 

Well,  he  showed  how  beautifully  he  could  take 
it;  and  it  was  not  obscure  to  her,  on  her  side,  that 
it  was  a  comfort  to  deal  with  a  gentleman.  "  It's 
ever  so  kind  of  you  to  see  such  opportunities  for  me. 
But  what's  the  use  of  my  tackling  Miss  Croy?  " 

Milly  rejoiced  on  the  spot  to  be  so  able  to  demon 
strate.  "  Because  she's  the  handsomest  and  clever 
est  and  most  charming  creature  I  ever  saw,  and  be 
cause  if  I  were  a  man  I  should  simply  adore  her.  In 
fact  I  do  as  it  is."  It  was  a  luxury  of  response. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  lady,  plenty  of  people  adore  her. 
But  that  can't  further  the  case  of  all." 

"  Ah,"  she  went  on,  "  I  know  about '  people.'  If 
179 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

the  case  of  one's  bad,  the  case  of  another's  good. 
I  don't  see  what  you  have  to  fear  from  any  one  else," 
she  said,  "  save  through  your  being  foolish,  this  way, 
about  me" 

So  she  said,  but  she  was  aware  the  next  moment 
of  what  he  was  making  of  what  she  didn't  see.  "  Is 
it  your  idea — since  we're  talking  of  these  things  in 
these  ways — that  the  young  lady  you  describe  in 
such  superlative  terms  is  to  be  had  for  the  ask- 
ing?  " 

"  Well,  Lord  Mark,  try.  She  is  a  great  person. 
But  don't  be  humble."  She  was  almost  gay. 

It  was  this  apparently,  at  last,  that  was  too  much 
for  him.  "  But  don't  you  really  know?  " 

As  a  challenge,  practically,  to  the  commonest  in 
telligence  she  could  pretend  to,  it  made  her  of  course 
wish  to  be  fair.  "  I  '  know,'  yes,  that  a  particular 
person  is  very  much  in  love  with  her." 

"  Then  you  must  know,  by  the  same  token,  that 
she's  very  much  in  love  with  a  particular  person." 

"Ah,  I  beg  your  pardon!" — and  Milly  quite 
flushed  at  having  so  crude  a  blunder  imputed  to  her. 
"  You're  wholly  mistaken." 

"It's  not  true?" 

"  It's  not  true." 

His  stare  became  a  smile.  "  Are  you  very,  very 
sure?" 

"  As  sure  as  one  can  be  " — and  Milly's  manner 
could  match  it — "  when  one  has  every  assurance. 
I  speak  on  the  best  authority." 

180 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

He  hesitated.     "  Mrs.  Lowder's?  " 

"  No.     I  don't  call  Mrs.  Lowder's  the  best." 

"  Oh,  I  thought  you  were  just  now  saying,"  he 
laughed,  "  that  everything  about  her  is  so  good." 

"  Good  for  you  " — she  was  perfectly  clear.  "  For 
you,"  she  went  on,  "  let  her  authority  be  the  best. 
She  doesn't  believe  what  you  mention,  and  you  must 
know  yourself  how  little  she  makes  of  it.  So  you 

can  take  it  from  her.     /  take  it But  Milly, 

with  the  positive  tremor  of  her  emphasis,  pulled  up. 

"You  take  it  from  Kate?" 

"  From  Kate  herself." 

"  That  she's  thinking  of  no  one  at  all?  " 

"  Of  no  one  at  all."  Then,  with  her  intensity, 
she  went  on.  "  She  has  given  me  her  word  for  it." 

"Oh!"  said  Lord  Mark.  To  which  he  next 
added:  "  And  what  do  you  call  her  word?  " 

It  made  Milly,  on  her  side,  stare — though  perhaps 
partly  but  with  the  instinct  of  gaining  time  for  the 
consciousness  that  she  was  already  a  little  further 
"  in  "  than  she  had  designed.  "  Why,  Lord  Mark, 
what  should  you  call  her  word?  " 

"  Ah,  I'm  not  obliged  to  say.  I've  not  asked 
her.  You  apparently  have." 

Well,  it  threw  her  on  her  defence — a  defence  that 
she  felt,  however,  as  especially  of  Kate.  "  We're 
very  intimate,"  she  said  in  a  moment;  "  so  that, 
without  prying  into  each  other's  affairs,  she  natur 
ally  tells  me  things." 

Lord   Mark   smiled   as   at   a   lame   conclusion. 
181 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

'''  You  mean  then  she  made  you  of  her  own  move 
ment  the  declaration  you  quote?  " 

Milly  thought  again,  though  with  hindrance 
rather  than  help  in  her  sense  of  the  way  their  eyes 
now  met — met  as  for  their  each  seeing  in  the  other 
more  than  either  said.  What  she  most  felt  that  she 
herself  saw  was  the  strange  disposition  on  her  com 
panion's  part  to  disparage  Kate's  veracity.  She 
could  be  only  concerned  to  "  stand  up  "  for  that. 

"  I  mean  what  I  say :  that  when  she  spoke  of  her 
having  no  private  interest " 

"  She  took  her  oath  to  you?  "  Lord  Mark  inter 
rupted. 

Milly  didn't  quite  see  why  he  should  so  catechise 
her;  but  she  met  it  again  for  Kate.  "  She  left  me 
in  no  doubt  whatever  of  her  being  free." 

At  this  Lord  Mark  did  look  at  her,  though  he 
continued  to  smile.  "  And  thereby  in  no  doubt  of 
your  being  too?"  It  was  as  if  as  soon  as  he  had 
said  it,  however,  he  felt  it  as  something  of  a  mistake, 
and  she  couldn't  herself  have  told  by  what  queer 
glare  at  him  she  had  instantly  signified  that.  He 
at  any  rate  gave  her  glare  no  time  to  act  further;  he 
fell  back  on  the  spot  and  with  a  light  enough  move 
ment,  within  his  rights.  "  That's  all  very  well,  but 
why  in  the  world,  dear  lady,  should  she  be  swearing 
to  you?" 

She  had  to  take  this  "  dear  lady  "  as  applying  to 
herself;  which  disconcerted  her  when  he  might 
now,  so  gracefully,  have  used  it  for  the  aspersed 

182 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

Kate.  Once  more  it  came  to  her  that  she  must 
claim  her  own  part  of  the  aspersion.  "  Because,  as 
I've  told  you,  we're  such  tremendous  friends." 

"  Oh,"  said  Lord  Mark,  who  for  the  moment 
looked  as  if  that  might  have  stood  rather  for  an  ab 
sence  of  such  rigours.  He  was  going,  however,  as 
if  he  had,  in  a  manner,  at  the  last,  got  more  or  less 
what  he  wanted.  Milly  felt,  while  he  addressed  his 
next  few  words  to  leavetaking,  that  she  had  given 
rather  more  than  she  intended  or  than  she  should 
be  able,  when  once  more  getting  herself  into  hand, 
theoretically  to  defend.  Strange  enough  in  fact 
that  he  had  had  from  her,  about  herself — and,  under 
the  searching  spell  of  the  place,  infinitely  straight — 
what  no  one  else  had  had :  neither  Kate,  nor  Aunt 
Maud,  nor  Merton  Densher,  nor  Susan  Shepherd. 
He  had  made  her  within  a  minute,  in  particular,  she 
was  aware,  lose  her  presence  of  mind,  and  she  now 
wished  that  he  would  get  off  quickly,  so  that  she 
might  either  recover  it  or  bear  the  loss  better  in  sol 
itude.  If  he  paused,  however,  she  almost  at  the 
same  time  saw,  it  was  because  of  his  watching  the 
approach,  from  the  end  of  the  sala,  of  one  of  the 
gondoliers,  who,  whatever  excursions  were  appoint 
ed  for  the  party  with  the  attendance  of  the  others,  al 
ways,  as  the  most  decorative,  most  besashed  and  be- 
starched,  remained  at  the  palace  on  the  theory  that 
she  might  whimsically  want  him — which  she  never, 
in  her  caged  freedom,  had  yet  done.  Brown  Pas- 
quale,  slipping  in  white  shoes  over  the  marble  and 

183 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

suggesting  to  her  perpetually  charmed  vision  she 
could  scarce  say  what,  either  a  mild  Hindoo,  too 
noiseless  almost  for  her  nerves,  or  simply  a  bare 
footed  seaman  on  the  deck  of  a  ship — Pasquale 
offered  to  sight  a  small  salver,  which  he  obsequious 
ly  held  out  to  her  with  its  burden  of  a  visiting-card. 
Lord  Mark — and  as  if  also  for  admiration  of  him — 
delayed  his  departure  to  let  her  receive  it;  on  which 
she  read  it  with  the  instant  effect  of  another  blow 
to  her  presence  of  mind.  This  precarious  quantity 
was  indeed  now  so  gone  that  even  for  dealing  with 
Pasquale  she  had  to  do  her  best  to  conceal  its  dis 
appearance.  The  effort  was  made,  none  the  less, 
by  the  time  she  had  asked  if  the  gentleman  were  be 
low  and  had  taken  in  the  fact  that  he  had  come  up. 
He  had  followed  the  gondolier  and  was  waiting  at 
the  top  of  the  staircase. 

"  I'll  see  him  with  pleasure."  To  which  she 
added  for  her  companion,  while  Pasquale  went  off : 
"  Mr.  Merton  Densher." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Lord  Mark — in  a  manner  that,  mak 
ing  it  resound  through  the  great,  cool  hall,  might 
have  carried  it  even  to  Densher's  ear  as  a  judgment 
of  his  identity  heard  and  noted  once  before. 


184 


BOOK  EIGHTH 


BOOK   EIGHTH 

XXVI 

DENSHER  became  aware,  afresh,  that  he  dis 
liked  his  hotel — and  all  the  more  promptly 
that  he  had  had  occasion  of  old  to  make  the  same 
discrimination.  The  establishment,  choked  at  that 
season  with  the  polyglot  herd,  cockneys  of  all 
climes,  mainly  German,  mainly  American,  mainly 
English,  it  appeared  as  the  corresponding  sensitive 
nerve  was  touched,  sounded  loud  and  not  sweet, 
sounded  anything  and  everything  but  Italian,  but 
Venetian.  The  Venetian  was  all  a  dialect,  he  knew; 
yet  it  was  pure  Attic  beside  some  of  the  dialects  at 
the  bustling  inn.  It  made,  "  abroad,"  both  for  his 
pleasure  and  his  pain  that  he  had  to  feel  at  almost 
any  point  how  he  had  been  through  everything  be 
fore.  He  had  been  three  or  four  times,  in  Venice, 
in  the  other  years,  through  this  pleasant  irritation  of 
paddling  away  —  away  from  the  concert  of  false 
notes  in  the  vulgarised  hall,  away  from  the  amiable 
American  families  and  overfed  German  porters. 
He  had  in  each  case  made  terms  for  a  lodging  more 
private  and  not  more  costly,  and  he  recalled  with  ten 
derness  these  shabby  but  friendly  asylums,  the  win 
dows  of  which  he  should  easily  know  again  in  pass- 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

ing  on  canal  or  through  campo.  The  shabbiest  now 
failed  of  an  appeal  to  him,  but  he  found  himself  at 
the  end  of  forty-eight  hours  forming  views  in  re 
spect  to  a  small  independent  quartiere,  far  down  the 
Grand  Canal,  which  he  had  once  occupied  for  a 
month  with  a  sense  of  pomp  and  circumstance,  and 
yet  also  with  a  sense  of  initiation  into  the  homelier 
Venetian  mysteries.  The  humour  of  those  days 
came  back  to  him  for  an  hour,  and  what  further  be 
fell  in  this  interval,  to  be  brief,  was  that,  emerging 
on  a  traghetto  in  sight  of  the  house  in  question,  he 
recognised  on  the  green  shutters  of  his  old,  of  his 
young  windows  the  strips  of  white  pasted  paper  that 
figure  in  Venice  as  an  invitation  to  tenants.  This 
was  in  the  course  of  his  very  first  walk  apart,  a  walk 
replete  with  impressions  to  which  he  responded  with 
force.  He  had  been  almost  without  cessation,  since 
his  arrival,  at  Palazzo  Leporelli,  where,  as  happened, 
a  turn  of  bad  weather,  on  the  second  day,  had  kept 
the  wrhole  party  continuously  at  home.  The  epi 
sode  had  passed  for  him  like  a  series  of  hours  in  a 
museum,  though  without  the  fatigue  of  that;  and 
it  had  also  resembled  something  that  he  was  still, 
with  a  stirred  imagination,  to  find  a  name  for.  He 
might  have  been  looking  for  the  name  while  he  gave 
himself  up,  subsequently,  to  the  ramble — he  saw 
that  even  after  years  he  couldn't  lose  his  way^- 
crowned  with  his  stare  across  the  water  at  the  little 
white  papers. 

He  was  to  dine  at  the  palace  in  an  hour  or  two, 
188 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

and  he  had  lunched  there,  at  an  early  luncheon,  that 
morning.  He  had  then  been  out  with  the  three 
ladies,  the  three  being  Mrs.  Lowder,  Mrs.  String- 
ham  and  Kate,  and  had  kept  afloat  with  them,  under 
a  sufficient  Venetian  spell,  until  Aunt  Maud  had 
directed  him  to  leave  them  and  return  to  Miss 
Theale.  Of  two  circumstances  connected  with  this 
disposition  of  his  person  he  was  even  now  not  un 
mindful;  the  first  being  that  the  lady  of  Lancaster 
Gate  had  addressed  him  with  high  publicity  and  as 
if  expressing  equally  the  sense  of  her  companions, 
who  had  not  spoken,  but  who  might  have  been 
taken  —  yes,  Susan  Shepherd  quite  equally  with 
Kate — for  inscrutable  parties  to  her  plan.  What 
he  could  as  little  contrive  to  forget  was  that  he  had, 
before  the  two  others,  as  it  struck  him — that  was  to 
say  especially  before  Kate — done  exactly  as  he  was 
bidden;  gathered  himself  up  without  a  protest  and 
retraced  his  way  to  the  palace.  Present  with  him 
still  was  the  question  of  whether  he  looked  like  a 
fool  for  it,  of  whether  the  awkwardness  he  felt  as  the 
gondola  rocked  with  the  business  of  his  leaving  it 
— they  could  but  make,  in  submission,  for  a  landing- 
place  that  was  none  of  the  best — had  furnished  his 
friends  with  such  entertainment  as  was  to  cause 
them,  behind  his  back,  to  exchange  intelligent 
smiles.  He  had  found  Milly  Theale  twenty  minutes 
later  alone,  and  he  had  sat  with  her  till  the  others 
returned  to  tea.  The  strange  part  of  this  was  that  it 
had  been  very  easy,  extraordinarily  easy.  He  knew 

189 


THE  WINGS   OF  THE   DOVE 

it  for  strange  only  when  he  was  away  from  her,  be 
cause  when  he  was  away  from  her  he  was  in  contact 
with  particular  things  that  made  it  so.  At  the  time, 
in  her  presence,  it  was  as  simple  as  sitting  with  his 
sister  might  have  been,  and  not,  if  the  point  were 
urged,  very  much  more  thrilling.  He  continued  to 
see  her  as  he  had  first  seen  her — that  remained  in- 
effaceably  behind.  Mrs.  Lowder,  Susan  Shepherd, 
his  own  Kate,  might,  each  in  proportion,  see  her  as  a 
princess,  as  an  angel,  as  a  star,  but  for  himself,  luck 
ily,  she  hadn't  as  yet  complications  to  any  point  of 
discomfort :  the  princess,  the  angel,  the  star  were 
muffled  over,  ever  so  lightly  and  brightly,  with  the 
little  American  girl  who  had  been  kind  to  him  in 
New  York  and  to  whom,  certainly — though  without 
making  too  much  of  it  for  either  of  them — he  was 
perfectly  willing  to  be  kind  in  return.  She  appre 
ciated  his  coming  in  on  purpose,  but  there  was  noth 
ing  in  that — from  the  moment  she  was  always  at 
home — that  they  couldn't  easily  keep  up.  The  only 
note  the  least  bit  high  that  had  even  yet  sounded  be 
tween  them  was  this  admission  on  her  part  that  she 
found  it  best  to  remain  within.  She  wouldn't  let 
him  call  it  keeping  quiet,  for  she  insisted  that  her 
palace — with  all  its  romance  and  art  and  history — 
had  set  up  round  her  a  whirlwind  of  suggestion  that 
never  dropped  for  an  hour.  It  wasn't,  therefore, 
within  such  walls,  confinement,  it  was  the  freedom 
of  all  the  centuries:  in  respect  to  which  Densher 
granted  good-humouredly  that  they  were  then 

190 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

blown  together,  she  and  he,  as  much  as  she  liked, 
through  space. 

Kate  had  found  on  the  present  occasion  a  moment 
to  say  to  him  that  he  suggested  a  clever  cousin  call 
ing  on  a  cousin  afflicted,  and  bored  for  his  pains; 
and  though  he  denied  on  the  spot  the  "  bored,"  he 
could  so  far  see  it  as  an  impression  he  might  make 
that  he  wondered  if  the  same  image  wouldn't  have 
occurred  to  Milly.  As  soon  as  Kate  appeared  again 
the  difference  came  up — the  oddity,  as  he  then  in 
stantly  felt  it,  of  his  having  sunk  so  deep.  It  was 
sinking  because  it  was  all  doing  what  Kate  had  con 
ceived  for  him;  it  was  not  in  the  least  doing — and 
that  had  been  his  notion  of  his  life — anything  he 
himself  had  conceived.  The  difference,  according 
ly,  renewed,  sharp,  sore,  was  the  irritant  under 
which  he  had  quitted  the  palace  and  under  which  he 
was  to  make  the  best  of  the  business  of  again  dining 
there.  He  said  to  himself  that  he  must  make  the 
best  of  everything;  that  was  in  his  mind,  at  the 
traghetto,  even  while,  with  his  preoccupation  about 
changing  quarters,  he  studied,  across  the  canal,  the 
look  of  his  former  abode.  It  had  done  for  the  past, 
would  it  do  for  the  present?  would  it  play  in  any 
manner  into  the  general  necessity  of  which  he  was 
conscious?  That  necessity  of  making  the  best  was 
the  instinct — as  he  indeed  himself  knew — of  a  man 
somehow  aware  that  if  he  let  go  at  one  place  he 
should  let  go  everywhere.  If  he  took  off  his  hand, 
the  hand  that  at  least  helped  to  hold  it  together,  the 

191 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

whole  queer  fabric  that  built  him  in  would  fall  away 
in  a  minute  and  admit  the  light.  It  was  really  a  mat 
ter  of  nerves;  it  was  exactly  because  he  was  nervous 
that  he  could  go  straight;  yet  if  that  condition 
should  increase  he  must  surely  go  wild.  He  was 
walking,  in  short,  on  a  high  ridge,  steep  down  on 
either  side,  where  the  proprieties — once  he  could 
face  at  all  remaining  there — reduced  themselves  to 
his  keeping  his  head.  It  was  Kate  who  had  so 
perched  him,  and  there  came  up  for  him  at  moments, 
as  he  found  himself  planting  one  foot  exactly  before 
another,  a  sensible  sharpness  of  irony  as  to  her  man 
agement  of  him.  It  wasn't  that  she  had  put  him  in 
danger — to  be  in  real  danger  with  her  would  have 
had  another  quality.  There  glowed  for  him  in  fact 
a  kind  of  rage  for  what  he  was  not  having;  an  ex 
asperation,  a  resentment,  begotten  truly  by  the  very 
impatience  of  desire,  in  respect  to  his  postponed  and 
relegated,  his  so  extremely  manipulated  state.  It 
was  beautifully  done  of  her,  but  what  was  the  real 
meaning  of  it  unless  that  he  was  perpetually  bent  to 
her  will?  His  idea  from  the  first,  from  the  very  first 
of  his  knowing  her,  had  been  to  be,  as  the  French 
called  it,  bon  prince  with  her,  mindful  of  the  good 
humour  and  generosity,  the  contempt,  in  the  matter 
of  confidence,  for  small  outlays  and  small  savings, 
that  belonged  to  the  man  who  wasn't  generally 
afraid.  There  were  things  enough,  goodness  knew 
— for  it  was  the  moral  of  his  plight — that  he  couldn't 
afford;  but  what  had  had  a  charm  for  him  if  not  the 

192 


THE   WINGS    OF  THE  DOVE 

notion  of  living  handsomely,  to  make  up  for  it,  in 
another  way?  of  not  at  all  events  reading  the  ro 
mance  of  his  existence  in  a  cheap  edition.  All  he 
had  originally  felt  in  her  came  back  to  him,  was  in 
deed  actually  as  present  as  ever — how  he  had  ad 
mired  and  envied  what  he  called  to  himself  her 
direct  talent  for  life,  as  distinguished  from  his  own, 
a  poor  weak  thing  of  the  occasion,  amateurishly 
patched  up;  only  it  irritated  him  the  more  that  this 
was  exactly  what  was  now,  ever  so  characteristically, 
standing  out  in  her. 

It  was  thanks  to  her  direct  talent  for  life,  verily, 
that  he  was  just  where  he  was,  and  that  he  was  above 
all  just  how  he  was.  The  proof  of  a  decent  reaction 
in  him  against  so  much  passivity  was,  with  no  great 
richness,  that  he  at  least  knew — knew,  that  is,  how 
he  was,  and  how  little  he  liked  it  as  a  thing  accepted 
in  mere  helplessness.  He  was,  for  the  moment, 
wistful — that  above  all  described  it;  that  was  so 
large  a  part  of  the  force  that,  as  the  autumn  after 
noon  closed  in,  kept  him,  on  his  traghetto,  positively 
throbbing  with  his  question.  His  question  con 
nected  itself,  even  while  he  stood,  with  his  special 
smothered  soreness,  his  sense  almost  of  shame;  and 
the  soreness  and  the  shame  were  less  as  he  let  him 
self,  with  the  help  of  the  conditions  about  him,  re 
gard  it  as  serious.  It  was  born,  for  that  matter, 
partly  of  the  conditions,  those,  conditions  that  Kate 
had  so  almost  insolently  braved,  had  been  willing, 
without  a  pang,  to  see  him  ridiculously — ridiculously 

VOL.  II.-is  I93 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

so  far  as  just  complacently — exposed  to.  How 
little  it  could  be  complacently  he  was  to  feel  with  the 
last  thoroughness  before  he  had  moved  from  his 
point  of  vantage.  His  question,  as  we  have  called 
it,  was  the  interesting  question  of  whether  he  had 
really  no  will  left.  How  could  he  know — that  was 
the  point — without  putting  the  matter  to  the  test? 
It  had  been  right  to  be  bon  prince,  and  the  joy,  some 
thing  of  the  pride,  of  having  lived,  in  spirit,  hand 
somely  was  even  now  compatible  with  the  impulse 
to  look  into  their  account;  but  he  held  his  breath  a 
little  as  it  came  home  to  him  with  supreme  sharp 
ness  that,  whereas  he  had  done  absolutely  every 
thing  that  Kate  had  wanted,  she  had  done  nothing 
whatever  that  he  had.  So  it  was,  in  fine,  that  his 
idea  of  the  test  by  which  he  must  try  that  possibility 
kept  referring  itself,  in  the  warm,  early  dusk,  the  ap 
proach  of  the  southern  night — "  conditions  "  these, 
such  as  we  just  spoke  of — to  the  glimmer,  more  and 
more  ghostly  as  the  light  failed,  of  the  little  white 
papers  on  his  old  green  shutters.  By  the  time  he 
looked  at  his  watch  he  had  been  for  a  quarter-of-an- 
hour  at  this  post  of  observation  and  reflection;  but 
by  the  time  he  walked  away  again  he  had  found  his 
answer  to  the  idea  that  had  grown  so  importunate. 
Since  a  proof  of  his  will  was  wanted  it  was  indeed 
very  exactly  in  wait  for  him,  lurking  there  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Canal.  A  ferryman  at  the  little 
pier  had  from  time  to  time  accosted  him;  but  it  was 
a  part  of  the  play  of  his  nervousness  to  turn  his  back 

194 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

on  that  facility.  He  would  go  over,  but  he  walked, 
very  quickly,  round  and  round,  crossing  finally  by 
the  Rialto.  The  rooms,  in  the  event,  were  unoccu 
pied;  the  ancient  padrona  was  there,  with  her  smile 
all  a  light,  but  her  recognition  all  a  fable;  the  an 
cient  rickety  objects  too,  refined  in  their  shabbiness, 
amiable  in  their  decay,  as  to  which,  on  his  side,  dem 
onstrations  were  tenderly  veracious;  so  that,  before 
he  took  his  way  again,  he  had  arranged  to  come  in 
on  the  morrow. 

He  was  amusing  about  it  that  evening  at  dinner — 
in  spite  of  an  odd  first  impulse,  which  at  the  palace 
quite  melted  away,  to  treat  it  merely  as  matter  for 
his  own  satisfaction.  This  need,  this  propriety,  he 
had  taken  for  granted  even  up  to  the  moment  of  sud 
denly  perceiving,  in  the  course  of  talk,  that  the  in 
cident  would  minister  to  innocent  gaiety.  Such 
was  quite  its  effect,  with  the  aid  of  his  picture — an 
evocation  of  the  quaint,  of  the  humblest  rococo,  of  a 
Venetian  interior  in  the  true  old  note.  He  made 
the  point  for  his  hostess  that  her  own  high  cham 
bers,  though  they  were  a  thousand  grand  things, 
weren't  really  this;  made  it  in  fact  with  such  success 
that  she  presently  declared  it  his  plain  duty  to  invite 
her,  on  some  near  day,  to  tea.  She  had  expressed 
as  yet — he  could  feel  it  as  felt  among  them  all — no 
such  clear  wish  to  go  anywhere,  not  even  to  make 
an  effort  for  a  parish  feast,  or  an  autumn  sunset,  nor 
to  descend  her  staircase  for  Titian  or  Gianbellini. 
It  was  constantly  Densher's  view  that,  as  between 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

himself  and  Kate,  things  were  understood  without 
saying,  so  that  he  could  catch  in  her,  as  she  but  too 
freely  could  in  him,  innumerable  signs  of  it,  the 
whole  soft  breath  of  consciousness  meeting  and  pro 
moting  consciousness.  This  view  was  so  far  justi 
fied  to-night  as  that  Milly's  offer  to  him  of  her  com 
pany  was,  to  his  sense,  taken  up  by  Kate  in  spite  of 
her  doing  nothing  to  show  it.  It  fell  in  so  perfectly 
with  what  she  had  desired  and  foretold  that  she  was 
— and  this  was  what  most  struck  him — sufficiently 
gratified  and  blinded  by  it  not  to  know,  from  the 
false  quality  of  his  response,  from  his  tone  and  his 
very  look,  which  for  an  instant  instinctively  sought 
her  own,  that  he  had  answered,  inevitably,  almost 
shamelessly,  in  a  mere  time-gaining  sense.  It  gave 
him  on  the  spot,  her  failure  of  perception,  almost  a 
beginning  of  the  advantage  he  had  been  planning 
for — that  is,  at  least,  if  she  too  were  not  darkly  dis 
honest.  She  might,  he  was  not  unaware,  have 
made  out,  from  some  deep  part  of  her,  the  bearing, 
in  respect  to  herself,  of  the  little  fact  he  had  an 
nounced;  for  she  was  after  all  capable  of  that,  capa 
ble  of  guessing  and  yet  of  simultaneously  hiding  her 
guess.  It  wound  him  up  a  turn  or  two  further, 
none  the  less,  to  impute  to  her  now  a  weakness  of 
vision  by  which  he  could  himself  feel  the  stronger. 
Whatever  apprehension  of  his  motive  in  shifting  his 
abode  might  have  brushed  her  with  its  wings,  she  at 
all  events  certainly  didn't  guess  that  he  was  giving 
their  friend  a  hollow  promise.  That  was  what  she 

196 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

had  herself  imposed  on  him;  there  had  been  from 
the  first,  in  the  prospect,  a  definite  particular  point 
at  which  hollowness,  to  call  it  by  its  least  compro 
mising  name,  would  have  to  begin.  Therefore  its 
hour  had  now  charmingly  sounded. 

Whatever  in  life  he  had  recovered  his  old  rooms 
for,  he  had  not  recovered  them  to  receive  Milly 
Theale :  which  made  no  more  difference  in  his  ex 
pression  of  happy  readiness  than  if  he  had  been — 
just  what  he  was  trying  not  to  be — fully  hardened 
and  fully  base.  So  rapid  in  fact  was  the  rhythm  of 
his  inward  drama  that  the  quick  vision  of  impossi 
bility  produced  in  him  by  his  hostess'  direct  and 
unexpected  appeal  had  the  effect,  slightly  sinister, 
of  positively  scaring  him.  It  gave  him  a  measure 
of  the  intensity,  the  reality  of  his  now  mature  mo 
tive.  It  prompted  in  him  certainly  no  quarrel  with 
these  things,  but  it  made  them  as  vivid  as  if  they 
already  flushed  with  success.  It  was  before  the 
flush  of  success  that  his  heart  beat  almost  to  dread. 
The  dread  was  but  the  dread  of  the  happiness  to  be 
compassed;  only  that  was  in  itself  a  symptom. 
That  a  visit  from  Milly  should,  in  this  projection  of 
necessities,  strike  him  as  of  the  last  incongruity, 
quite  as  a  hateful  idea,  and  above  all  as  spoiling, 
should  one  put  it  grossly,  his  game — the  adoption 
of  such  a  view  might  of  course  have  an  identity  with 
one  of  those  numerous  ways  of  being  a  fool  that 
seemed  so  to  abound  for  him.  It  would  remain, 
none  the  less,  the  way  to  which  he  should  be  in  ad- 

197 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

vance  most  reconciled.  His  mature  motive,  as  to 
which  he  allowed  himself  no  grain  of  illusion,  had 
thus  in  an  hour  taken  imaginative  possession  of  the 
place :  that  precisely  was  how  he  saw  it  seated  there, 
already  unpacked  and  settled,  for  Milly's  innocence, 
for  Milly's  beauty,  no  matter  how  short  a  time,  to 
be  housed  with.  There  were  things  she  would 
never  recognise,  never  feel,  never  catch  in  the  air; 
but  this  made  no  difference  in  the  fact  that  her 
brushing  against  them  would  do  nobody  any  good. 
The  discrimination  and  the  scruple  were  for  him. 
So  he  felt  all  the  parts  of  the  case  together,  while 
Kate  showed,  admirably,  as  feeling  none  of  them. 
Of  course,  however — when  hadn't  it  to  be  his  last 
word? — Kate  was  always  sublime. 

That  came  up  in  all  connections  during  the  rest 
of  these  first  days;  came  up  in  especial  under  pres 
sure  of  the  fact  that  each  time  our  plighted  pair 
snatched,  in  its  passage,  at  the  good  fortune  of  half- 
an-hour  together,  they  were  doomed — though  Den- 
sher  felt  it  as  all  by  his  act — to  spend  a  part  of  the 
rare  occasion  in  wonder  at  their  luck  and  in  study  of 
its  queer  character.  This  was  the  case  after  he 
might  be  supposed  to  have  got,  in  a  manner,  used 
to  it;  it  was  the  case  even  after  the  girl — ready  al 
ways,  as  we  say,  with  the  last  word — had  given  him 
the  benefit  of  her  righting  of  every  wrong  appear 
ance,  a  support  familiar  to  him  now  in  reference  to 
other  phases.  It  was  still  the  case  after  he  possibly 
might,  with  a  little  imagination,  as  she  freely  insist- 

198 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

ed,  have  made  out,  by  the  visible  working  of  the 
crisis,  what  idea,  on  Mrs.  Lowder's  part,  had  deter 
mined  it.  Such  as  the  idea  was — and  that  it  suited 
Kate's  own  book  she  openly  professed — he  had  only 
to  see  how  things  were  turning  out  to  feel  it  strik 
ingly  justified.  Densher's  reply  to  all  this  vividness 
was  that  of  course  Aunt  Maud's  intervention  had 
not  been  occult,  even  for  his  vividness,  from  the 
moment  she  had  written  him,  with  characteristic 
concentration,  that  if  he  should  see  his  way  to  come 
to  Venice  for  a  fortnight  she  should  engage  he 
would  find  it  no  blunder.  It  took  Aunt  Maud, 
really,  to  do  such  things  in  such  ways;  just  as  it  took 
him,  he  was  ready  to  confess,  to  do  such  others  as 
he  must  now  strike  them  all — didn't  he?— as  com 
mitted  to.  Mrs.  Lowder's  admonition  had  been  of 
course  a  direct  reference  to  what  she  had  said  to  him 
at  Lancaster  Gate,  on  his  withdrawing,  the  night 
Milly  had  failed  them  through  illness;  only  it  had  at 
least  matched  that  remarkable  outbreak  in  respect 
to  the  quantity  of  good  nature  it  attributed  to  him. 
The  young  man's  discussions  of  his  situation — which 
were  confined  to  Kate;  he  had  none  with  Aunt 
Maud  herself — suffered  a  little,  it  may  be  divined,  by 
the  sense  that  he  couldn't  put  everything  off,  as  he 
privately  expressed  it,  on  other  people.  His  ears, 
in  solitude,  were  apt  to  burn  with  the  reflection  that 
Mrs.  Lowder  had  simply  sounded  him,  seen  him  as 
he  was  and  made  out  what  could  be  done  with  him. 
She  had  had  but  to  whistle  for  him  and  he  had  come. 

199 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

If  she  had  taken  for  granted  his  good  nature  she  was 
as  justified  as  Kate  declared.  This  awkwardness  of 
his  conscience,  both  in  respect  to  his  general  plas 
ticity,  the  fruit  of  his  feeling  plasticity,  within  limits, 
to  be  a  mode  of  life  like  another — certainly  better 
than  some,  and  particularly  in  respect  to  such  con 
fusion  as  might  reign  about  what  he  had  really  come 
for — this  inward  ache  was  not  wholly  dispelled  by 
the  style,  charming  as  that  was,  of  Kate's  poetic 
versions.  Even  the  high  wonder  and  delight  of 
Kate  couldn't  set  him  right  with  himself  when  there 
was  something  quite  distinct  from  these  things  that 
kept  him  wrong. 

In  default  of  being  right  with  himself  he  had 
meanwhile,  for  one  thing,  the  interest  of  seeing — 
and  quite  for  the  first  time  in  his  life — whether,  on  a 
given  occasion,  that  might  be  quite  so  necessary  to 
happiness  as  was  commonly  assumed  and  as  he  had 
up  to  this  moment  never  doubted.  He  was  en 
gaged  distinctly  in  an  adventure — he  who  had  never 
thought  himself  cut  out  for  them,  and  it  fairly  helped 
him  that  he  was  able  at  moments  to  say  to  himself 
that  he  mustn't  fall  below  it.  At  his  hotel,  alone,  at 
night,  or  in  the  course  of  the  few  late  strolls  he  was 
finding  time  to  take  through  dusky  labyrinthine  al 
leys  and  empty  campi,  overhung  with  mouldering 
palaces,  where  he  paused  in  disgust  at  his  want  of 
ease  and  where  the  sound  of  a  rare  footstep  on  the 
enclosed  pavement  was  like  that  of  a  retarded  dancer 
in  a  banquet-hall  deserted — during  these  interludes 

200 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

h'e  entertained  cold  views,  even  to  the  point,  at  mo 
ments,  on  the  principle  that  the  shortest  follies  are 
the  best,  of  thinking  of  immediate  departure  as  not 
only  possible  but  as  indicated.  He  had,  however, 
only  to  cross  again  the  threshold  of  Palazzo  Lepo- 
relli  to  see  all  the  elements  of  the  business  compose, 
as  painters  called  it,  differently.  It  began  to  strike 
him  then  that  departure  wouldn't  curtail,  but  would 
signally  coarsen  his  folly,  and  that,  above  all,  as  he 
hadn't  really  "  begun  "  anything,  had  only  submit 
ted,  consented,  but  too  generously  indulged  and 
condoned  the  beginnings  of  others,  he  had  no  call 
to  treat  himself  with  superstitious  rigour.  The  sin 
gle  thing  that  was  clear,  in  complications,  was  that, 
whatever  happened,  one  was  to  behave  as  a  gentle 
man — to  which  was  added  indeed  the  perhaps  slight 
ly  less  shining  truth  that  complications  might  some 
times  have  their  tedium  beguiled  by  a  study  of  the 
question  how  a  gentleman  would  behave.  This  ques 
tion,  I  hasten  to  add,  was  not  in  the  last  resort  Den- 
sher's  greatest  worry.  Three  women  were  looking 
to  him  at  once,  and,  though  such  a  predicament 
could  never  be,  from  the  point  of  view  of  facility, 
quite  the  ideal,  it  yet  had,  thank  goodness,  its  imme 
diate  workable  law.  The  law  was  not  to  be  a  brute 
— in  return  for  amiabilities.  He  hadn't  come  all 
the  way  out  from  England  to  be  a  brute.  He  hadn't 
thought  of  what  it  might  give  him  to  have  a  fort 
night,  however  handicapped,  with  Kate  in  Venice, 
to  be  a  brute.  He  hadn't  treated  Mrs.  Lowder  as 

201 


THE  WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

if  in  responding  to  her  suggestion  he  had  understood 
her — he  hadn't  done  that  either  to  be  a  brute.  And 
what  he  had  prepared  least  of  all  for  such  an  anti 
climax  was  the  prompt  and  inevitable,  the  achieved 
surrender — ay  a  gentleman,  oh  that  indubitably! — 
to  the  unexpected  impression  made  by  poor  pale 
exquisite  Milly  as  the  mistress  of  a  grand  old  palace 
and  the  dispenser  of  an  hospitality  more  irresistible, 
thanks  to  all  the  conditions,  than  any  ever  known 
to  him. 

This  spectacle  had  for  him  an  eloquence,  an  au 
thority,  a  felicity — he  scarce  knew  by  what  strange 
name  to  call  it — for  which  he  said  to  himself  that 
he  had  not  consciously  bargained.  Her  welcome, 
her  frankness,  sweetness,  sadness,  brightness,  her 
disconcerting  poetry,  as  he  made  shift  at  moments 
to  call  it,  helped  as  it  was  by  the  beauty  of  her  whole 
setting  and  by  the  perception,  at  the  same  time,  on 
the  observer's  part,  that  this  element  gained  from 
her,  in  a  manner,  for  effect  and  harmony,  as  much  as 
it  gave — her  whole  attitude  had,  to  his  imagination, 
meanings  that  hung  about  it,  waiting  upon  her, 
hovering,  dropping  and  quavering  forth  again,  like 
vague,  faint  snatches,  mere  ghosts  of  sound,  of  old- 
fashioned  melancholy  music.  It  was  positively  well 
for  him,  he  had  his  times  of  reflecting,  that  he 
couldn't  put  it  off  on  Kate  and  Mrs.  Lowder,  as  a 
gentleman  so  conspicuously  wouldn't,  that — well, 
that  he  had  been  rather  taken  in  by  not  having 
known  in  advance !  There  had  been  now  five  days 

202 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

of  it  all  without  his  risking  even  to  Kate  alone  any 
hint  of  what  he  ought  to  have  known  and  of  what  in 
particular  therefore  had  taken  him  in.  The  truth  was 
doubtless  that  really,  when  it  came  to  any  free  hand 
ling  and  naming  of  things,  they  were  living  together, 
the  five  of  them,  in  an  air  in  which  an  ugly  effect  of 
"  blurting  out "  might  easily  be  produced.  He 
came  back  with  his  friend  on  each  occasion  to  the 
blessed  miracle  of  renewed  propinquity,  which  had 
a  double  virtue  in  that  favouring  air.  He  breathed 
on  it  as  if  he  could  scarcely  believe  it,  yet  the  time 
had  passed,  in  spite  of  this  privilege,  without  his 
quite  committing  himself,  for  her  ear,  to  any  such 
comment  on  Milly's  high  style  and  state  as  would 
have  corresponded  with  the  amount  of  recognition 
it  had  produced  in  him.  Behind  everything,  for 
him,  was  his  renewed  remembrance,  which  had  fair 
ly  become  a  habit,  that  he  had  been  the  first  to  know 
her.  This  was  what  they  had  all  insisted  on,  in  her 
absence,  that  day  at  Mrs.  Lowder's;  and  this  was  in 
especial  wrhat  had  made  him  feel  its  influence  on  his 
immediately  paying  her  a  second  visit.  Its  influ 
ence  was  all  there,  was  in  the  high-hung,  rumbling 
carriage  with  them,  from  the  moment  she  took  him 
to  drive,  covering  them  in  together  as  if  had  been 
a  rug  of  softest  silk.  It  had  worked  as  a  clear  con 
nection  with  something  lodged  in  the  past,  some 
thing  already  their  own.  He  had  more  than  once 
recalled  how  he  had  said  to  himself  even  at  that  mo 
ment,  at  some  point  in  the  drive,  that  he  was  not 

203 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

there,  not  just  as  he  was  in  so  doing  it,  through 
Kate  and  Kate's  idea,  but  through  Milly  and  Milly's 
own,  and  through  himself  and  his  own,  unmistaka 
bly,  as  well  as  through  the  little  facts,  whatever  they 
had  amounted  to,  of  his  time  in  New  York. 


204 


XXVII 

THERE  was  at  last,  with  everything  that  made  for  it, 
an  occasion  when  he  got  from  Kate,  on  what  she 
now  spoke  of  as  his  eternal  refrain,  an  answer  of 
which  he  was  to  measure  afterwards  the  precipitat 
ing  effect.  His  eternal  refrain  was  the  way  he  came 
back  to  the  riddle  of  Mrs.  Lowder's  view  of  her 
profit — a  view  so  hard  to  reconcile  with  the  chances 
she  gave  them  to  meet.  Impatiently,  at  this,  the 
girl  denied  the  chances,  wanting  to  know  from  him, 
with  a  fine  irony  that  smote  him  rather  straight, 
whether  he  felt  their  opportunities  as  anything  so 
grand.  He  looked  at  her  deep  in  the  eyes  when  she 
had  sounded  this  note ;  it  was  the  least  he  could  let 
her  off  with  for  having  made  him  visibly  flush.  For 
some  reason  then,  with  it,  the  sharpness  dropped 
out  of  her  tone,  which  became  sweet  and  sincere. 
"  '  Meet/  my  dear  man,"  she  expressively  echoed; 
"  does  it  strike  you  that  we  get,  after  all,  so  very 
much  out  of  our  meetings?  " 

"  On  the  contrary — they're  starvation  diet.  All 
I  mean  is — and  all  I  have  meant  from  the  day  I 
came — that  we  at  least  get  more  than  Aunt  Maud." 

"  Ah,  but  you  see,"  Kate  replied,  "  you  don't 
understand  what  Aunt  Maud  gets." 

"  Exactly  so — and  it's  what  I  don't  understand 
205 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

that  keeps  me  so  fascinated  with  the  question.  She 
gives  me  no  light;  she's  prodigious.  She  takes 
everything  as  of  a  natural !  " 

"  She  takes  it  as  '  of  a  natural '  that,  at  this  rate, 
I  shall  be  making  my  reflections  about  you. 
There's  every  appearance  for  her,"  Kate  went  on, 
"  that  what  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  as  possible 
is  possible;  that  what  she  had  thought  more  likely 
than  not  to  happen  is  happening.  The  very  essence 
of  her,  as  you  surely  by  this  time  have  made  out  for 
yourself,  is  that,  when  she  adopts  a  view,  she — well, 
to  her  own  sense,  really  brings  the  thing  about, 
fairly  terrorises,  with  her  view,  any  other,  any  oppo 
site  view,  and  those  with  it  who  represent  it.  I've 
often  thought  success  comes  to  her  " — Kate  con 
tinued  to  study  the  phenomenon — "  by  the  spirit  in 
her  that  dares  and  defies  her  idea  not  to  prove  the 
right  one.  One  has  seen  it  so  again  and  again,  in 
the  face  of  everything,  become  the  right  one." 

Densher  had  for  this,  as  he  listened,  a  smile  of  the 
largest  response.  "  Ah,  my  dear  child,  if  you  can 
explain,  I  of  course  needn't  not  '  understand.'  I'm 
condemned  to  that,"  he  on  his  side  presently  ex 
plained,  "  only  when  understanding  fails."  He  took 
a  moment;  then  he  pursued:  "  Does  she  think  she 
terrorises  us?  "  To  which  he  added  while,  without 
immediate  speech,  Kate  but  looked  over  the  place : 
"  Does  she  believe  anything  so  stiff  as  that  you've 
really  changed  about  me?  "  He  knew  now  that  he 
was  probing  the  girl  deep — something  told  him  so; 

206 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

but  that  was  a  reason  the  more.  "  Has  she  got  it 
into  her  head  that  you  dislike  me?  " 

To  this,  of  a  sudden,  Kate's  answer  was  strong. 
"  You  could  yourself  easily  put  it  there !  " 

He  wondered.     "  By  telling  her  so?  " 

"  No,"  said  Kate  as  with  amusement  at  his  sim 
plicity;  "  I  don't  ask  that  of  you." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,"  Densher  laughed,  "  when  you 
ask,  you  know,  so  little !  " 

There  was  a  full  irony  in  this,  on  his  own  part, 
that  he  saw  her  resist  the  impulse  to  take  up.  "  I'm 
perfectly  justified  in  what  I've  asked,"  she  quietly 
returned.  "  It's  doing  beautifully  for  you."  Their 
eyes  again  intimately  met,  and  the  effect  was  to 
make  her  proceed.  "  You're  not  a  bit  unhap- 

py." 

"  Oh,  ain't  I?  "  he  brought  out  very  roundly. 

"  It  doesn't  practically  show — which  is  enough 
for  Aunt  Maud.  You're  wonderful,  you're  beauti 
ful,"  Kate  said;  "  and  if  you  really  want  to  know 
whether  I  believe  you're  doing  it,  you  may  take  from 
me,  perfectly,  that  I  see  it  coming."  With  which, 
by  a  quick  transition,  as  if  she  had  settled  the  case, 
she  asked  him  the  hour. 

"  Oh,  only  twelve-ten  " — he  had  looked  at  his 
watch.  "  We've  taken  but  thirteen  minutes;  we've 
time  yet." 

"  Then  we  must  walk.  We  must  go  toward 
them." 

Densher,  from  where  they  had  been  standing, 
207 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

measured  the  long  reach  of  the  Square.  "  They're 
still  in  their  shop.  They're  safe  for  half-an-hour." 

"  That  shows  then,  that  shows !  "  said  Kate. 

This  colloquy  had  taken  place  in  the  middle  of 
Piazza.  San  Marco,  always,  as  a  great  social  saloon, 
a  smooth-floored,  blue-roofed  chamber  of  amenity, 
favourable  to  talk;  or  rather,  to  be  exact,  not  in  the 
middle,  but  at  the  point  where  our  pair  had  paused 
by  a  common  impulse  after  leaving  the  great 
mosque-like  church.  It  rose  now,  domed  and  pin 
nacled,  but  a  little  way  behind  them,  and  they  had 
in  front  the  vast  empty  space,  enclosed  by  its  ar 
cades,  to  which  at  that  hour  movement  and  traffic 
were  mostly  confined.  Venice  was  at  breakfast,  the 
Venice  of  the  visitor  and  the  possible  acquaintance, 
and,  except  for  the  parties  of  importunate  pigeons 
picking  up  the  crumbs  of  perpetual  feasts,  their 
prospect  was  clear  and  they  could  see  their  compan 
ions  had  not  yet  been,  and  were  not  for  a  while 
longer  likely  to  be,  disgorged  by  the  laceshop,  in 
one  of  the  loggie,  where,  shortly  before,  they  had 
left  them  for  a  look-in — the  expression  was  artfully 
Densher's — at  St.  Mark.  Their  morning  had  hap 
pened  to  take  such  a  turn  as  brought  this  chance  to 
the  surface;  yet  his  allusion,  just  made  to  Kate,  had 
not  been  an  overstatement  of  their  general  oppor 
tunity.  The  worst  that  could  be  said  of  their 
general  opportunity  was  that  it  was  essentially  in 
presence — in  presence  of  everyone;  everyone  con 
sisting  at  this  juncture,  in  a  peopled  world,  of  Susan 

208 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

Shepherd,  Aunt  Maud  and  Milly.  But  the  proof 
how,  even  in  presence,  the  opportunity  could  be 
come  special  was  furnished  precisely  by  this  view 
of  the  compatibility  of  their  comfort  with  a  certain 
amount  of  lingering.  The  others  had  assented  to 
their  not  waiting  in  the  shop;  it  was  the  least,  of 
course,  the  others  could  do.  What  had  really  helped 
them  this  morning  was  the  fact  that,  on  his  turning 
up,  as  he  always  called  it,  at  the  palace,  Milly  had 
not,  as  before,  been  able  to  present  herself.  Cus 
tom  and  use  had  hitherto  seemed  fairly  established; 
on  his  coming  round,  day  after  day — eight  days  had 
been  now  so  conveniently  marked — their  friends, 
Milly's  and  his,  conveniently  dispersed  and  left  him 
to  sit  with  her  till  luncheon.  Such  was  the  perfect 
operation  of  the  scheme  on  which  he  had  been,  as 
he  phrased  it  to  himself,  had  out;  so  that  certainly 
there  was  that  amount  of  justification  for  Kate's 
vision  of  success.  He  had,  for  Mrs.  Lowder — he 
couldn't  help  having,  while  sitting  there — the  air, 
which  was  the  thing  to  be  desired,  of  no  absorption 
in  Kate  sufficiently  deep  to  be  alarming.  He  had 
failed  their  young  hostess,  each  morning,  as  little  as 
she  had  failed  him;  it  was  only  to-day  that  she 
hadn't  been  well  enough  to  see  him. 

That  had  made  a  mark,  all  round;  the  mark  was 
in  the  way  in  which,  gathered  in  the  room  of  state, 
with  the  place,  from  the  right  time,  all  bright  and 
cool  and  beflowered,  as  always,  to  receive  her  de 
scent,  they — the  rest  of  them — simply  looked  at 

VOL.  II.— 14  209 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

each  other.  It  was  lurid — lurid,  in  all  probability, 
for  each  of  them  privately — that  they  had  uttered 
no  common  regrets.  It  was  strange  for  our  young 
man  above  all  that,  if  the  poor  girl  was  indisposed 
to  that-  degree,  the  hush  of  gravity,  of  apprehension, 
of  significance  of  some  sort,  should  be  the  most  the 
case — that  of  the  guests — could  permit  itself.  The 
hush,  for  that  matter,  continued  after  the  party  of 
four  had  gone  down  to  the  gondola  and  taken  their 
places  in  it.  Milly  had  sent  them  word  that  she 
hoped  they  would  go  out  and  enjoy  themselves,  and 
this  indeed  had  produced  a  second  remarkable  look, 
a  look  as  of  their  knowing,  one  quite  as  well  as  the 
other,  what  such  a  message  meant  as  provision  for 
the  alternative  beguilement  of  Densher.  She 
wished  not  to  have  spoiled  his  morning,  and  he  had 
therefore,  in  civility,  to  take  it  as  pleasantly  patched 
up.  Mrs.  Stringham  had  helped  the  affair  out,  Mrs. 
Stringham  who,  when  it  came  to  that,  knew  their 
friend  better  than  any  of  them.  She  knew  her  so 
well  that  she  knew  herself  as  acting  in  exquisite 
compliance  with  conditions  comparatively  obscure, 
approximately  awful  to  them,  by  not  thinking  it 
necessary  to  stay  at  home.  She  had  corrected  that 
element  of  the  perfunctory  which  was  the  slight 
fault,  for  all  of  them,  of  the  occasion;  she  had  in 
vented  a  preference  for  Mrs.  Lowder  and  herself; 
she  had  remembered  the  fond  dreams  of  the  visita 
tion  of  lace  that  had  hitherto  always  been  brushed 
away  by  accidents,  and  it  had  come  up  as  well  for 

210 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

her  that  Kate  had,  the  day  before,  spoken  of  the 
part  played  by  fatality  in  her  own  failure  of  real 
acquaintance  with  the  inside  of  St.  Mark's.  Den- 
sher's  sense  of  Susan  Shepherd's  conscious  interven 
tion  had  by  this  time  a  corner  of  his  mind  all  to  it 
self;  something  that  had  begun  for  them  at  Lan 
caster  Gate  was  now  a  sentiment  clothed  in  a  shape; 
her  action,  ineffably  discreet,  had  at  all  events  a  way 
of  affecting  him  as  for  the  most  part  subtly,  even 
when  not  superficially,  in  his  own  interest.  They 
were  not,  as  a  pair,  as  a  "  team,"  really  united;  there 
were  too  many  persons,  at  least  three,  and  too  many 
things,  between  them;  but  meanwhile  something 
was  preparing  that  would  draw  the  closer.  He 
scarce  knew  what:  probably  nothing  but  his  find 
ing,  at  some  hour  when  it  would  be  a  service  to  do 
so,  that  she  had  all  the  while  understood  him.  He 
even  had  a  presentiment  of  a  juncture  at  which  the 
understanding  of  everyone  else  would  fail  and  this 
deep  little  person's  alone  survive. 

Such  was  to-day,  in  its  freshness,  the  moral  air,  as 
we  may  say,  that  hung  about  our  young  friends; 
these  had  been  the  small  accidents  and  quiet  forces 
to  which  they  owed  the  advantage  we  have  seen 
them  in  some  sort  enjoying.  It  seemed  in  fact  fairly 
to  deepen  for  them  as  they  stayed  their  course  again; 
the  splendid  Square,  which  had  so  notoriously,  in  all 
the  years,  witnessed  more  of  the  joy  of  life  than  any 
equal  area  in  Europe,  furnished  them,  in  their  re 
moteness  from  earshot,  with  solitude  and  security. 

211 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

It  was  as  if,  being  in  possession,  they  could  say  what 
they  liked;  and  it  was  also  as  if,  in  consequence  of 
that,  each  had  an  apprehension  of  what  the  other 
wanted  to  say.  It  was  most  of  all,  for  them,  more 
over,  as  if  this  very  quantity,  seated  on  their  lips  in 
the  bright,  historic  air,  where  the  only  sign  for  their 
ears  was  the  flutter  of  the  doves,  begot  in  the  heart 
of  each  a  fear.  There  might  have  been  a  betrayal 
of  that  in  the  way  Densher  broke  the  silence  that 
had  followed  her  last  words.  "  What  did  you  mean 
just  now  that  I  can  do  to  make  Mrs.  Lowder  be 
lieve?  For  myself,  stupidly,  if  you  will,  I  don't  see, 
from  the  moment  I  can't  lie  to  her,  what  else  there 
is  but  lying." 

Well,  she  could  tell  him.  "  You  can  say  some 
thing  both  handsome  and  sincere  to  her  about  Milly 
— whom  you  honestly  like  so  much.  That  wouldn't 
be  lying;  and,  coming  from  you,  it  would  have  an 
effect.  You  don't,  you  know,  say  much  about 
her."  And  Kate  put  before  him  the  fruit  of  ob 
servation.  "  You  don't,  you  know,  speak  of  her 
at  all." 

"  And  has  Aunt  Maud,"  Densher  asked,  "  told 
you  so?  "  Then  as  the  girl,  for  answer,  only  hesi 
tated,  "  You  must  have  extraordinary  conversa 
tions  !"  he  exclaimed. 

Yes,  she  had  hesitated.  But  she  decided.  "  We 
have  extraordinary  conversations." 

His  look,  while  their  eyes  met,  marked  him  as 
disposed  to  hear  more  about  them;  but  there  was 

212 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

something  in  her  own,  apparently,  that  defeated  the 
opportunity.  He  asked  in  a  moment  for  something 
else  instead,  something  that  had  been  in  his  mind  for 
a  week,  yet  in  respect  to  which  he  had  had  no 
chance  so  good  as  this.  "  Do  you  happen  to  know 
then,  as  such  wonderful  things  pass  between  you, 
what  she  makes  of  the  incident,  the  other  day,  of 
Lord  Mark's  so  very  superficial  visit? — his  having 
spent  here,  as  I  gather,  but  the  two  or  three  hours 
necessary  for  seeing  our  friend  and  yet  taken  no 
time  at  all,  since  he  went  off  by  the  same  night's 
train,  for  seeing  any  one  else?  What  can  she  make 
of  his  not  having  waited  to  see  you,  or  to  see  herself 
— with  all  he  owes  her?" 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  said  Kate,  "  she  understands. 
He  came  to  make  Milly  his  offer  of  marriage — he 
came  for  nothing  but  that.  As  Milly  wholly  de 
clined  it  his  business  was  for  the  time  at  an  end.  He 
couldn't  quite  on  the  spot  turn  round  to  make  up 
to  us." 

Kate  had  looked  surprised  that,  as  a  matter  of 
taste  on  such  an  adventurer's  part,  Densher 
shouldn't  see  it.  But  Densher  was  lost  in  another 
thought.  "  Do  you  mean  that  when,  turning  up 
myself,  I  found  him  leaving  her,  that  was  what  had 
been  taking  place  between  them?  " 

"  Didn't  you  make  it  out,  my  dear?  "  Kate  in 
quired. 

"  What  sort  of  a  blundering  weathercock  then 
is  he?  "  the  young  man  went  on  in  his  wonder. 

213 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

"  Oh,  don't  make  too  little  of  him !  "  Kate  smiled. 
"  Do  you  pretend  that  Milly  didn't  tell  you?  " 

"  How  great  an  ass  he  had  made  of  himself?  " 

Kate  continued  to  smile.  "  You  are  in  love  with 
her,  you  know." 

He  gave  her  another  long  look.  "  Why,  since 
she  has  refused  him,  should  my  opinion  of  Lord 
Mark  show  it?  I'm  not  obliged,  however,  to  think 
well  of  him  for  such  treatment  of  the  other  persons 
I've  mentioned,  and  I  feel  I  don't  understand  from 
you  why  Mrs.  Lowder  should." 

"  She  doesn't — but  she  doesn't  care,"  Kate  ex 
plained.  "  You  know  perfectly  the  terms  on  which 
lots  of  London  people  live  together  even  when  they 
are  supposed  to  live  very  well.  He's  not  committed 
to  us — he  was  having  his  try.  Mayn't  an  unsatis 
fied  man,"  she  asked,  "  always  have  his  try?  " 

"  And  come  back  afterwards,  with  confidence  in 
a  welcome,  to  the  victim  of  his  inconstancy?  " 

Kate  consented,  as  for  argument,  to  be  thought 
of  as  a  victim.  "  Oh,  but  he  has  had  his  try  at  me. 
So  it's  all  right." 

"  Through  your  also  having,  you  mean,  refused 
him?" 

She  balanced  an  instant  during  which  Densher 
might  have  just  wondered  if  pure  historic  truth 
were  to  suffer  a  slight  strain.  But  she  dropped  on 
the  right  side.  "  I  haven't  let  it  come  to  that.  I've 
been  too  discouraging.  Aunt  Maud,"  she  went  on 
— now  as  lucid  as  ever — "  considers,  no  doubt,  that 

214 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

she  has  a  pledge  from  him  in  respect  to  me;  a  pledge 
that  would  have  been  broken  if  Milly  had  accepted 
him.  As  the  case  stands,  that  makes  no  difference." 

Densher  laughed  out.  "  It  isn't  his  merit  that  he 
has  failed." 

"  It's  still  his  merit,  my  dear,  that  he's  Lord 
Mark.  He's  just  what  he  was,  and  what  he  knew 
he  was.  It's  not  for  me  either  to  reflect  on  him 
after  I've  so  treated  him." 

"  Oh,"  said  Densher  impatiently,  "  you've  treated 
him  beautifully." 

"  I'm  glad,"  she  smiled,  "  that  you  can  still  be 
jealous."  But  before  he  could  take  it  up  she  had 
more  to  say.  "  I  don't  see  why  it  need  puzzle  you 
that  Milly's  so  marked  line  gratifies  Aunt  Maud 
more  than  anything  else  can  displease  her.  What 
does  she  see  but  that  Milly  herself  recognises  her 
situation  with  you  as  too  precious  to  be  spoiled? 
Such  a  recognition  as  that  can't  but  seem  to  her  to 
involve  in  some  degree  your  own  recognition.  Out 
of  which  she  therefore  gets  it  that  the  more  you 
have  for  Milly  the  less  you  have  for  me." 

There  were  moments  again — we  know  that  from 
the  first  they  had  been  numerous — when  he  felt 
with  a  strange  mixed  passion  the  mastery  of  her 
mere  way  of  putting  things.  There  was  something 
in  it  that  bent  him  at  once  to  conviction  and  to  re 
action.  And  this  effect,  however  it  be  named,  now 
broke  into  his  tone.  "  Oh,  if  she  began  to  know 

what  I  have  for  you !  " 

215 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

It  was  not  ambiguous,  but  Kate  stood  up  to  it. 
"  Luckily  for  us  we  may  really  consider  that  she 
doesn't.  So  successful  have  we  been." 

"  Well,"  he  presently  said,  "  I  take  from  you  what 
you  give  me,  and  I  suppose  that,  to  be  consistent — 
to  stand  on  my  feet  where  I  do  stand  at  all — I  ought 
to  thank  you.  Only,  you  know,  what  you  give  me 
seems  to  me,  more  than  anything  else,  the  larger  and 
larger  size  of  my  job.  It  seems  to  me  more  than 
anything  else  what  you  expect  of  me.  It  never 
seems  to  me,  somehow,  what  I  may  expect  of  you. 
There's  so  much  you  don't  give  me." 

"And  pray  what  is  it?" 

"  I  give  you  proof,"  said  Densher.  '  You  give 
me  none." 

"  What  then  do  you  call  proof?  "  she  after  a  mo 
ment  ventured  to  ask. 

"  Your  doing  something  for  me." 

She  considered  with  surprise.  "  Am  I  not  doing 
this  for  you?  Do  you  call  this  nothing?  " 

"  Nothing  at  all." 

"  Ah,  I  risk,  my  dear,  everything  for  it." 

They  had  strolled  slowly  further,  but  he  was 
brought  up  short.  "  I  thought  you  exactly  con 
tend  that,  with  your  aunt  so  beguiled,  you  risk 
nothing !  " 

It  was  the  first  time  since  the  launching  of  her 
wonderful  idea  that  he  had  seen  her  at  a  loss.  He 
judged  the  next  instant  moreover  that  she  didn't 
like  it — either  the  being  so  or  the  being  seen,  for 

216 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

she  soon  spoke  with  an  impatience  that  showed  her 
as  wounded;  an  appearance  that  produced  in  him 
self,  he  no  less  quickly  felt,  a  sharp  pang  of  indul 
gence.  "  What  then  do  you  wish  me  to  risk?  " 

The  appeal  from  danger  touched  him,  but  all  to 
make  him,  as  he  would  have  said,  worse.  "  What 
I  wish  is  to  be  loved.  How  can  I  feel  at  this  rate 
that  I  am?  "  Oh,  she  understood  him,  for  all  she 
might  so  bravely  disguise  it,  and  that  made  him  feel 
straighter  than  if  she  hadn't.  Deep,  always,  was 
his  sense  of  life  with  her — deep  as  it  had  been  from 
the  moment  of  those  signs  of  life  that  in  the  dusky 
London  of  two  winters  ago  they  had  originally  ex 
changed.  He  had  never  taken  her  for  unguarded, 
ignorant,  weak ;  and  if  he  put  to  her  a  claim  for  some 
intenser  faith  between  them  it  was  because  he  be 
lieved  it  could  reach  her  and  she  could  meet  it.  "  I 
can  go  on  perhaps,"  he  said,  "  with  help.  But  I 
can't  go  on  without." 

She  looked  away  from  him  now,  and  it  showed 
him  how  she  understood.  "  We  ought  to  be  there 
— I  mean  when  they  come  out." 

"  They  won't  come  out — not  yet.  And  I  don't 
care  if  they  do."  To  which  he  straightway  added, 
as  if  to  deal  with  the  charge  of  selfishness  that  his 
words,  sounding  for  himself,  struck  him  as  enabling 
her  to  make :  "  Why  not  have  done  with  all  and 
face  the  music  as  we  are?  "  It  broke  from  him  in 
perfect  sincerity.  "  Good  God,  if  you'd  only  take 


me!" 


217 


THE   WINGS    OF   THE   DOVE 

It  brought  her  eyes  round  to  him  again,  and  he 
could  see  how,  after  all,  somewhere  deep  within,  she 
tasted  his  rebellion  as  more  sweet  than  bitter.  Its 
effect  on  her  spirit  and  her  sense  was  visibly  to  hold 
her  for  an  instant.  "  We've  gone  too  far,"  she  none 
the  less  pulled  herself  together  to  reply.  "  Do  you 
want  to  kill  her?  " 

He  had  an  hesitation  that  was  not  all  candid. 
"  Kill,  you  mean,  Aunt  Maud?  " 

:<  You  know  whom  I  mean.  We've  told  too 
many  lies." 

Oh,  at  this  his  head  went  up.  "  I,  my  dear,  have 
told  none !  " 

He  had  brought  it  out  with  a  sharpness  that  did 
him  good,  but  he  had  naturally,  none  the  less,  to  take 
the  look  it  made  her  give  him.  "  Thank  you  very 
much." 

Her  expression,  however,  failed  to  check  the 
words  that  had  already  risen  to  his  lips.  "  Rather 
than  lay  myself  open  to  the  least  appearance  of  it 
I'll  go  this  very  night." 

"  Then  go,"  said  Kate  Croy. 

He  knew  after  a  little,  while  they  walked  on  again 
together,  that  what  was  in  the  air  for  him,  and  dis 
concertingly,  was  not  the  violence,  but  much  rather 
the  cold  quietness,  of  the  way  this  had  come  from 
her.  They  walked  on  together,  and  it  was  quite,  for 
a  minute,  as  if  their  difference  had  become,  of  a  sud 
den,  in  all  truth,  a  split — as  if  the  basis  of  his  de 
parture  had  been  settled.  Then,  incoherently  and 

218 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

still  more  suddenly,  recklessly  moreover,  since  they 
now  might  easily,  from  under  the  arcades,  be  ob 
served,  he  passed  his  hand  into  her  arm  with  a  force 
that  produced  for  them  another  pause.  "  I'll  tell 
any  lie  you  want,  any  your  idea  requires,  if  you'll 
only  come  to  me." 

"  Come  to  you?  "     She  spoke  low. 

"  Come  to  me." 

"How?     Where?" 

She  spoke  low,  but  there  was  somehow,  for  his 
uncertainty,  a  wonder  in  her  being  so  equal  to  him. 
"  To  my  rooms,  which  are  perfectly  possible,  and  in 
taking  which,  the  other  day,  I  had  you,  as  you  must 
have  felt,  in  view.  We  can  arrange  it — with  two 
grains  of  courage.  People  in  our  case  always  ar 
range  it."  She  listened  as  for  the  good  informa 
tion,  and  there  was  support  for  him — since  it  was  a 
question  of  his  going  step  by  step — in  the  way  she 
took  no  refuge  in  showing  herself  shocked.  He 
had  in  truth  not  expected  of  her  that  particular  vul 
garity  but  the  absence  of  it  only  added  the  thrill  of 
a  deeper  reason  to  his  sense  of  possibilities.  For 
the  knowledge  of  what  she  was  he  had  absolutely 
to  see  her  now,  incapable  of  refuge,  stand  there  for 
him  in  all  the  light  of  the  day  and  of  his  admirable, 
merciless  meaning.  Her  mere  listening  in  fact 
made  him  even  understand  himself  as  he  had  not  yet 
done.  Idea  for  idea,  his  own  was  thus  already,  and 
in  the  germ,  beautiful.  "  There's  nothing  for  me 
possible  but  to  feel  that  I'm  not  a  fool.  It's  all  I 

219 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

have  to  say,  but  you  must  know  what  it  means. 
With  you  I  can  do  it — I'll  go  as  far  as  you  demand, 
or  as  you  will  yourself.  Without  you  —  I'll  be 
hanged !  And  I  must  be  sure." 

She  listened  so  well  that  she  was  really  listening 
after  he  had  ceased  to  speak.  He  had  kept  his  grasp 
of  her,  drawing  her  close,  and  though  they  had 
again,  for  the  time,  stopped  walking,  his  talk — for 
others  at  a  distance — might  have  been,  in  the  match 
less  place,  that  of  any  impressed  tourist  to  any 
slightly  more  detached  companion.  On  possessing 
himself  of  her  arm  he  had  made  her  turn,  so  that 
they  faced  afresh  to  St.  Mark's,  over  the  great  pres 
ence  of  which  his  eyes  moved  while  she  twiddled  her 
parasol.  She  now,  however,  made  a  motion  that 
confronted  them  finally  with  the  opposite  end. 
Then  only  she  spoke — "  Please  take  your  hand  out 
of  my  arm."  He  understood  at  once:  she  had 
made  out  in  the  shade  of  the  gallery  the  issue  of  the 
others  from  their  place  of  purchase.  So  they  went 
to  them  side  by  side,  and  it  was  all  right.  The 
others  had  seen  them  as  well  and  waited  for  them, 
complacent  enough,  under  one  of  the  arches.  They 
themselves  too — he  argued  that  Kate  would  argue 
— looked  perfectly  ready,  decently  patient,  properly 
accommodating.  They  suggested  nothing  worse 
— always  by  Kate's  system — than  a  pair  of  the  chil 
dren  of  a  supercivilised  age  making  the  best  of  an 
awkwardness.  They  didn't  nevertheless  hurry — that 
would  overdo  it;  so  he  had  time  to  feel,  as  it  were, 

220 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

what  he  felt.  He  felt,  ever  so  distinctly — it  was 
with  this  he  faced  Mrs.  Lowder  —  that  he  was 
already,  in  a  sense,  possessed  of  what  he  wanted. 
There  was  more  to  come — everything;  he  had  by 
no  means,  with  his  companion,  had  it  all  out.  Yet 
what  he  was  possessed  of  was  real — the  fact  that  she 
hadn't  thrown  over  his  lucidity  the  horrid  shadow 
of  cheap  reprobation.  Of  this  he  had  had  so  sore  a 
fear  that  its  being  dispelled  was  in  itself  of  the  nature 
of  bliss.  The  danger  had  dropped — it  was  behind 
him  there  in  the  great  sunny  space.  So  far  she  was 
good. 


221 


XXVIII 

SHE  was  good  enough,  as  it  proved,  for  him  to  put 
to  her  that  evening,  and  with  further  ground  for  it, 
the  next  sharpest  question  that  had  been  on  his  lips 
in  the  morning — which  his  other  preoccupation  had 
then,  to  his  consciousness,  crowded  out.  His  op 
portunity  was  again  made,  as  befell,  by  his  learning 
from  Mrs.  Stringham,  on  arriving,  as  usual,  with  the 
close  of  day,  at  the  palace,  that  Milly  must  fail  them 
again  at  dinner,  but  would  to  all  appearance  be  able 
to  come  down  later.  He  had  found  Susan  Shep 
herd  alone  in  the  great  saloon,  where  even  more 
candles  than  their  friend's  large  common  allowance 
— she  grew  daily  more  splendid;  they  were  all 
struck  with  it  and  chaffed  her  about  it — lighted  up 
the  pervasive  mystery  of  Style.  He  had  thus  five 
minutes  with  the  good  lady  before  Mrs.  Lowder  and 
Kate  appeared  —  minutes  illumined  indeed  to  a 
longer  reach  than  by  the  number  of  Milly's  candles. 

"  May  she  come  down — ought  she  if  she  isn't 
really  up  to  it?" 

He  had  asked  that  in  the  wonderment  that  was 
always  with  him  before  glimpses — rare  as  were  these 
— of  the  inner  truth  about  the  girl.  There  was  of 
course  a  question  of  health — it  was  in  the  air,  it  was 
in  the  ground  he  trod,  in  the  food  he  tasted,  in  the 
sounds  he  heard,  it  was  everywhere.  But  it  was 

222 


THE   WINGS  OF   THE  DOVE 

everywhere  with  the  effect  of  a  request  to  him — to 
his  very  delicacy,  to  the  common  discretion  of 
others  as  well  as  himself — that  no  allusion  to  it 
should  be  made.  There  had  had  practically  been 
none,  that  morning,  on  her  explained  non-appear 
ance —  the  absence  of  it,  as  we  know,  quite  un 
natural;  and  this  passage  with  Mrs.  Stringham 
offered  him  his  first  licence  to  open  his  eyes.  He 
had  gladly  enough  held  them  closed;  all  the  more 
that  his  doing  so  performed  for  his  own  spirit  a  use 
ful  function.  If  he  positively  wanted  not  to  be 
brought  up  with  his  nose  against  Milly's  facts,  what 
better  proof  could  he  have  that  his  conduct  was 
marked  by  straightness?  It  was  perhaps  pathetic 
for  her,  and  for  himself  it  was  perhaps  even  ridicu 
lous;  but  he  hadn't  even  the  amount  of  curiosity 
that  he  would  have  had  about  an  ordinary  friend. 
He  might  have  shaken  himself  at  moments  to  try, 
for  a  sort  of  dry  decency,  to  have  it;  but  that  too,  it 
appeared,  wouldn't  come.  Where,  therefore,  was 
the  duplicity?  He  was  at  least  sure  about  his  feel 
ings — it  being  so  established  that  he  had  none  at  all. 
They  were  all  for  Kate,  without  a  feather's  weight  to 
spare.  He  was  acting  for  Kate,  and  not,  by  the  de 
viation  of  an  inch,  for  her  friend.  He  was  accord 
ingly  not  interested,  for  had  he  been  interested  he 
would  have  cared,  and  had  he  cared  he  would  have 
wanted  to  know.  Had  he  wanted  to  know  he 
wouldn't  have  been  purely  passive,  and  it  was  his 
pure  passivity  that  had  to  represent  his  honour. 

223 


or  THF 
UNIVERSITY 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

His  honour,  at  the  same  time,  let  us  add,  fortunately 
fell  short,  to-night,  of  spoiling  his  little  talk  with 
Susan  Shepherd.  One  glimpse — it  was  as  if  she 
had  wished  to  give  him  that;  and  it  was  as  if,  for 
himself,  on  current  terms,  he  could  oblige.  She 
not  only  permitted,  she  fairly  invited  him  to  open  his 
eyes.  "  I'm  so  glad  you're  here."  It  was  no  an 
swer  to  his  question,  but  it  had,  for  the  moment,  to 
do.  And  the  rest  was  fully  to  come. 

He  smiled  at  her,  and  he  presently  found  himself, 
as  a  kind  of  consequence  of  communion  with  her, 
talking  her  own  language.  "  It's  a  very  wonderful 
experience." 

"  Well  " — and  her  raised  face  shone  up  at  him — 
"  that's  all  I  want  you  to  feel  about  it.  If  I  weren't 
afraid,"  she  added,  "  there  are  things  I  should  like 
to  say  to  you." 

"  And  what  are  you  afraid  of,  please?  "  he  encour 
agingly  asked. 

"  Of  other  things  that  I  may  possibly  spoil.  Be 
sides,  I  don't,  you  know,  seem  to  have  the  chance. 
You're  always,  you  know,  with  her." 

He  was  strangely  supported,  it  struck  him,  in  his 
fixed  smile;  which  was  the  more  fixed  as  he  felt  in 
these  last  words  an  exact  description  of  his  course. 
It  was  an  odd  thing  to  have  come  to,  but  he  was 
always  with  her.  "  Ah,"  he  none  the  less  smiled, 
"  I'm  not  with  her  now." 

"  NO — and  I'm  so  glad,  since  I  get  this  from  it. 
She's  ever  so  much  better." 

224 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

"  Better?     Then  she  has  been  worse?  " 

Mrs.  Stringham  waited.  "  She  has  been  marvel 
lous — that's  what  she  has  been.  She  is  marvellous. 
But  she's  really  better." 

"  Oh  then,  if  she's  really  better !  "  But  he 

checked  himself,  wanting  only  to  be  easy  about  it 
and  above  all  not  to  show  as  engaged  to  the  point 
of  mystification.  "  We  shall  miss  her  the  more  at 
dinner." 

Susan  Shepherd,  however,  was  all  there  for  him. 
"She's  keeping  herself.  You'll  see.  You'll  not 
really  need  to  miss  anything.  There's  to  be  a  little 
party." 

"  Ah,  I  do  see — by  this  aggravated  grandeur." 

"  Well,  it  is  lovely,  isn't  it?  I  want  the  whole 
thing.  She's  lodged  for  the  first  time  as  she  ought, 
from  her  type,  to  be;  and  doing  it — I  mean  bring 
ing  out  all  the  glory  of  the  place — makes  her  really 
happy.  It's  a  Veronese  picture,  as  near  as  can  be — 
with  me  as  the  inevitable  dwarf,  the  small  blacka 
moor,  put  into  a  corner  of  the  foreground  for  effect. 
If  I  only  had  a  hawk  or  a  hound  or  something  of 
that  sort  I  should  do  the  scene  more  honour.  The 
old  housekeeper,  the  woman  in  charge  here,  has  a 
big  red  cockatoo  that  I  might  borrow  and  perch  on 
my  thumb  for  the  evening."  These  explanations 
and  sundry  others  Mrs.  Stringham  gave,  though  not 
all  with  the  result  of  making  him  feel  that  the  picture 
closed  him  in.  What  part  was  there  for  him,  with 
his  attitude  that  lacked  the  highest  style,  in  a  com- 

VOL.  IL— 15  225 


THE   WINGS  OF   THE  DOVE 

position  in  which  everything  else  would  have  it? 
"  They  won't,  however,  be  at  dinner,  the  few  people 
she  expects;  they  come  round  afterwards,  from 
their  respective  hotels;  and  Sir  Luke  Strett  and  his 
niece,  the  principal  ones,  will  have  arrived  in  Lon 
don  but  an  hour  or  two  ago.  It's  for  him  she  has 
wanted  to  do  something — just,  this  evening,  to  be 
gin.  We  shall  see  more  of  him,  because  she  likes 
him;  and  I'm  so  glad — she'll  be  glad  too — that 
you're  to  see  him."  The  good  lady,  in  connection 
with  it,  was  urgent,  was  almost  unnaturally  bright. 

"So  I  greatly  hope !"  But  her  hope  fairly 

lost  itself  in  the  wide  light  of  her  cheer. 

He  considered  a  little  this  appearance,  while  she 
let  him,  he  thought,  into  still  more  knowledge  than 
she  uttered.  "  What  is  it  you  hope?  " 

"  Well,  that  you'll  stay  on." 

"  Do  you  mean  after  dinner?  "  She  meant,  he 
seemed  to  feel,  so  much  that  he  could  scarce  tell 
where  it  ended  or  began. 

"  Oh  that,  of  course.  Why,  we're  to  have  music 
— beautiful  instruments  and  songs;  and  not  Tasso 
declaimed  as  in  the  guide-books  either.  She  has 
arranged  it — or  at  least  I  have.  That  is  Eugenio 
has.  Besides,  you're  in  the  picture." 

"  Oh — I !  "  said  Densher  almost  with  the  gravity 
of  a  real  protest. 

"  You'll  be  the  grand  young  man  who  surpasses 
the  others  and  holds  up  his  head  and  the  wine-cup. 
What  we  hope,"  Mrs.  Stringham  pursued,  "  is  that 

226 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

you'll  be  faithful  to  us — that  you've  not  come  for  a 
mere  foolish  few  days." 

Densher's  more  private  and  particular  shabby 
realities  turned,  without  comfort,  he  was  conscious, 
at  this  touch,  in  the  artificial  repose  he  had  but  half 
managed  to  induce.  The  way  smooth  ladies,  travel 
ling  for  their  pleasure  and  housed  in  Veronese  pict 
ures,  talked  to  plain,  embarrassed  working-men,  en 
gaged  in  an  unprecedented  sacrifice  of  time  and  of 
the  opportunity  of  modest  acquisition !  The  things 
they  took  for  granted  and  the  general  misery  of 
explaining !  He  couldn't  tell  them  how  he  had  tried 
to  work,  how  it  was  partly  what  he  had  moved  into 
rooms  for,  only  to  find  himself,  almost  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  stricken  and  sterile;  because  that 
would  give  them  a  false  view  of  the  source  of  his 
restlessness,  if  not  of  the  degree  of  it.  It  would 
operate  indirectly  perhaps,  but  infallibly,  to  add  to 
that  weight,  on  his  heart,  of  conscious  responsibility 
which  these  very  moments  with  Mrs.  Stringham 
caused  more  and  more  to  settle.  He  had  incurred 
it,  conscious  responsibility;  the  thing  was  done,  and 
there  was  no  use  talking;  again,  again  the  cold 
breath  of  it  was  in  the  air.  So  there  he  was.  And 
at  best  he  floundered.  "  I'm  afraid  you  won't 
understand  when  I  say  I've  very  tiresome  things  to 
consider.  Botherations,  necessities  at  home.  The 
pinch,  the  pressure  in  London." 

But  she  understood  in  perfection;  she  rose  to  the 
pinch  and  the  pressure  and  showed  how  they  had 

227 


THE  WINGS   OF  THE   DOVE 

been  her  own  very  element.  "  Oh,  the  daily  task 
and  the  daily  wage,  the  golden  guerdon  or  reward? 
No  one  knows  better  than  I  how  they  haunt  one  in 
the  flight  of  the  precious,  deceiving  days.  Aren't 
they  just  what  I  myself  have  given  up?  I've  given 
up  all  to  follow  her.  I  wish  you  could  feel  as  I  do. 
And  can't  you,"  she  inquired,  "  write  about  Ven 
ice?  " 

He  very  nearly  wished,  for  the  minute,  that  he 
could  feel  as  she  did;  and  he  smiled  for  her  kindly. 
"  Do  you  write  about  Venice?  " 

"  No;  but  I  would — oh,  wouldn't  I?— if  I  hadn't 
so  completely  given  up.  She's,  you  know,  my  prin 
cess,  and  to  one's  princess  " 

"  One  makes  the  whole  sacrifice?  " 

"  Precisely.     There  you  are !  " 

It  pressed  on  him  with  this  that  never  had  a  man 
been  in  so  many  places  at  once.  "  I  quite  under 
stand  that  she's  yours.  Only,  you  see,  she's  not 
mine."  He  felt  he  could  somehow,  for  honesty, 
risk  that,  as  he  had  the  moral  certainty  that  she 
wouldn't  repeat  it,  least  of  all  to  Mrs.  Lowder,  who 
would  find  in  it  a  disturbing  implication.  This  was 
part  of  what  he  liked  in  the  good  lady,  that  she 
didn't  repeat,  and  that  she  gave  him  moreover  a  del 
icate  sense  of  her  shyly  wishing  him  to  know  it. 
That  was  in  itself  a  hint  of  possibilities  between 
them,  of  a  relation,  beneficent  and  elastic  for  him, 
which  wouldn't  engage  him  further  than  he  could 
see.  Yet  even  as  he  afresh  made  this  out  he  felt 

228 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

how  strange  it  all  was.  She  wanted,  Susan  Shep 
herd  then,  as  appeared,  the  same  thing  that  Kate 
wanted,  only  she  wanted  it,  as  still  further  appeared, 
in  so  different  a  way  and  from  a  motive  so  different, 
even  though  scarce  less  deep.  Then  Mrs.  Lowder 
wanted,  by  so  odd  an  evolution  of  her  exuberance, 
exactly  what  each  of  the  others  did;  and  he  was  be 
tween  them  all,  he  was  in  the  midst.  Such  percep 
tions  made  occasions — well,  occasions  for  fairly 
wondering  if  it  mightn't  be  best  just  to  consent,  lux 
uriously,  to  be  the  ass  the  whole  thing  involved. 
Trying  not  to  be  and  yet  keeping  in  it  was  of  the 
two  things  the  more  asinine.  He  was  glad  there 
was  no  male  witness;  it  was  a  circle  of  petticoats; 
he  shouldn't  have  liked  a  man  to  see  him.  He  only 
had  for  a  moment  a  sharp  thought  of  Sir  Luke 
Strett,  the  great  master  of  the  knife  whom  Kate  in 
London  had  spoken  of  Milly  as  in  commerce  with, 
and  whose  renewed  intervention,  at  such  a  distance, 
just  announced  to  him,  required  some  accounting 
for.  He  had  a  vision  of  great  London  surgeons — 
if  this  one  was  a  surgeon — as  incisive  all  round;  so 
that  he  should  perhaps  after  all  not  wholly  escape 
the  ironic  attention  of  his  own  sex.  The  most  he 
might  be  able  to  do  was  not  to  care;  while  he  was 
trying  not  to  he  could  take  that  in.  It  was  a  train, 
however,  that  brought  up  the  vision  of  Lord  Mark 
as  well.  Lord  Mark  had  caught  him  twice  in  the 
fact — the  fact  of  his  absurd  posture;  and  that  made 
a  second  male.  But  it  was  comparatively  easy  not 
to  mind  Lord  Mark. 

229 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

His  companion  had  before  this  taken  him  up,  and 
in  a  tone  to  confirm  her  discretion,  on  the  matter 
of  Milly's  not  being  his  princess.  "  Of  course  she's 
not.  You  must  do  something  first." 

Densher  gave  it  his  thought.  "  Wouldn't  it  be 
rather  she  who  must?  " 

It  had  more  than  he  intended  the  effect  of  bring 
ing  her  to  a  stand.  "  I  see.  No  doubt,  if  one  takes 
it  so."  Her  cheer  was  for  the  time  in  eclipse,  and 
she  looked  over  the  place,  avoiding  his  eyes,  as  if  in 
the  wonder  of  what  Milly  could  do.  "  And  yet  she 
has  wanted  to  be  kind." 

It  made  him  feel  on  the  spot  like  a  brute.  "  Of 
course  she  has.  No  one  could  be  more  charming. 
She  has  treated  me  as  if  7  were  somebody.  Call  her 
my  hostess  as  I've  never  had  nor  imagined  a  hostess, 
and  I'm  with  you  altogether.  Of  course,"  he  added 
in  the  right  spirit  for  her,  "  I  do  see  that  it's  quite 
court  life." 

She  promptly  showed  that  this  was  almost  all  she 
wanted  of  him.  "  That's  all  I  mean,  if  you  under 
stand  it  of  such  a  court  as  never  was:  one  of  the 
courts  of  heaven,  the  court  of  an  angel.  That  will 
do  perfectly." 

"  Oh  well  then,  I  grant  it.  Only  court  life  as  a 
general  thing,  you  know,"  he  observed,  "  isn't  sup 
posed  to  pay." 

'  Yes,  one  has  read;  but  this  is  beyond  any  book. 
That's  just  the  beauty  here;  it's  why  she's  the  great 
and  only  princess.  With  her,  at  her  court,"  said 

230 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

Mrs.  Stringham,  "  it  does  pay."  Then  as  if  she 
had  quite  settled  it  for  him :  "  You'll  see  for  your 
self." 

He  waited  a  moment,  but  said  nothing  to  discour 
age  her.  "  I  think  you  were  right  just  now.  One 
must  do  something  first." 

"  Well,  you've  done  something." 

"  No — I  don't  see  that.     I  can  do  more." 

Oh,  well,  she  seemed  to  say,  if  he  would  have  it 
so !  :*  You  can  do  everything,  you  know." 

"  Everything  "  was  rather  too  much  for  him  to 
take  up  gravely,  and  he  modestly  let  it  alone,  speak 
ing  the  next  moment,  to  avert  fatuity,  of  a  different 
but  a  related  matter.  "  Why  has  she  sent  for  Sir 
Luke  Strett  if,  as  you  tell  me,  she's  so  much  bet 
ter?  " 

"  She  hasn't  sent.  He  has  come  of  himself,"  Mrs. 
Stringham  explained.  "  He  has  wanted  to  come." 

"  Isn't  that  rather  worse  then — if  it  shows  him  as 
not  easy?  " 

"  He  was  coming,  from  the  first,  for  his  holiday. 
She  has  known  that  these  several  weeks."  After 
which  Mrs.  Stringham  added :  "  You  can  make  him 
easy." 

"I  can?"  he  candidly  wondered.  It  was  truly 
the  circle  of  petticoats.  "  What  have  I  to  do  with 
it  for  a  man  like  that?  " 

"  How  do  you  know,"  said  his  friend,  "  what  he's 
like?  He's  not  like  any  one  you've  ever  seen. 
He's  a  great  beneficent  being." 

231 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

"  Ah,  then  he  can  do  without  me.  I've  no  call, 
as  an  outsider,  to  meddle." 

"  Tell  him,  all  the  same,"  Mrs.  Stringham  urged, 
"  what  you  think." 

"  What  I  think  of  Miss  Theale?  "  Densher  stared. 
It  was,  as  they  said,  a  large  order.  But  he  found  the 
right  note.  "  It's  none  of  his  business." 

It  did  seem  a  moment,  for  Mrs.  Stringham  too, 
the  right  note.  She  fixed  him  at  least  with  an  ex 
pression  still  bright,  but  searching,  that  showed  al 
most  to  excess  what  she  saw  in  it;  though  what  this 
might  be  he  was  not  to  make  out  till  afterwards. 
"  Say  that  to  him  then.  Anything  will  do  for  him 
as  a  means  of  getting  at  you." 

"  And  why  should  he  get  at  me?  " 

"  Give  him  a  chance  to.  Let  him  talk  to  you. 
Then  you'll  see." 

All  of  which,  on  Mrs.  Stringham's  part,  sharpened 
his  sense  of  immersion  in  an  element  rather  more 
strangely  than  agreeably  warm — a  sense  that  was 
moreover,  during  the  next  two  or  three  hours,  to  be 
fed  to  satiety  by  several  other  impressions.  Milly 
came  down  after  dinner,  half-a-dozen  friends — ob 
jects  of  interest  mainly,  it  appeared,  to  the  ladies  of 
Lancaster  Gate — having  by  that  time  arrived;  and 
with  this  call  on  her  attention,  the  further  call  of  her 
musicians  ushered  by  Eugenio,  but  personally  and 
separately  welcomed,  and  the  supreme  opportunity 
offered  in  the  arrival  of  the  great  doctor,  who  came 
last  of  all,  he  felt  her  as  diffusing,  in  wide  warm 

232 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

waves,  the  spell  of  a  general,  a  kind  of  beatific  mild 
ness.  There  was  a  deeper  depth  of  it,  doubtless,  for 
some  than  for  others;  what  he,  at  any  rate,  in  par 
ticular  knew  of  it  was  that  he  seemed  to  stand  in  it 
up  to  his  neck.  He  moved  about  in  it,  and  it  made 
no  plash;  he  floated,  he  noiselessly  swam  in  it;  and 
they  were  all  together,  for  that  matter,  like  fishes 
in  a  crystal  pool.  The  effect  of  the  place,  the  beauty 
of  the  scene,  had  probably  much  to  do  with  it;  the 
golden  grace  of  the  high  rooms,  chambers  of  art  in 
themselves,  took  care,  as  an  influence,  of  the  general 
manner,  and  made  people  bland  without  making 
them  solemn.  They  were  only  people,  as  Mrs. 
Stringham  had  said,  staying  for  the  week  or  two  at 
the  inns,  people  who  during  the  day  had  fingered 
their  Baedekers,  gaped  at  their  frescoes  and  differed, 
over  fractions  of  francs,  with  their  gondoliers.  But 
Milly,  let  loose  among  them  in  a  wonderful  white 
dress,  brought  them  somehow  into  relation  with 
something  that  made  them  more  finely  genial;  so 
that  if  the  Veronese  picture  of  which  he  had  talked 
with  Mrs.  Stringham  was  not  quite  constituted,  the 
comparative  prose  of  the  previous  hours,  the  traces 
of  insensibility  qualified  by  "  beating  down,"  were 
at  last  almost  nobly  disowned.  There  was  perhaps 
something  for  him  in  the  accident  of  his  seeing  her 
for  the  first  time  in  white,  but  she  had  not  yet  had 
occasion — circulating  with  a  clearness  intensified — 
to  strike  him  as  so  happily  pervasive.  She  was  dif 
ferent,  younger,  fairer,  with  the  colour  of  her 

233 


THE   WINGS  OF   THE  DOVE 

braided  hair  more  than  ever  a  not  altogether  lucky 
challenge  to  attention;  yet  he  was  loath  wholly  to 
explain  it  by  her  having  quitted  this  once,  for  some 
obscure,  yet  doubtless  charming  reason,  her  almost 
monastic,  her  hitherto  inveterate  black.  Much  as 
the  change  did  for  the  value  of  her  presence,  she  had 
never  yet,  when  all  was  said,  made  it  for  him;  and 
he  was  not  to  fail  of  the  further  amusement  of  seeing 
her  as  determined  in  the  matter  by  Sir  Luke  Strett's 
visit.  If  he  could  in  this  connection  have  felt  jeal 
ous  of  Sir  Luke  Strett,  whose  strong  face  and  type, 
less  assimilated  by  the  scene  perhaps  than  any 
others,  he  was  anon  to  study  from  the  other  side  of 
the  saloon,  that  would  doubtless  have  been  most 
amusing  of  all.  But  he  couldn't  be  invidious,  even 
to  profit  by  so  high  a  tide;  he  felt  himself  too  much 
"  in  "  it,  as  he  might  have  said :  a  moment's  reflec 
tion  put  him  more  in  than  any  one.  The  way  Milly 
neglected  him  for  other  cares  while  Kate  and  Mrs. 
Lowder,  without  so  much  as  the  attenuation  of  a 
joke,  introduced  him  to  English  ladies — that  was 
itself  a  proof;  for  nothing  really  of  so  close  a  com 
munion  had  up  to  this  time  passed  between  them  as 
the  single  bright  look  and  the  three  gay  words — 
all  ostensibly  of  the  last  lightness — with  which  her 
confessed  consciousness  brushed  by  him. 

She  was  acquitting  herself  to-night  as  hostess,  he 
could  see,  under  some  supreme  idea,  an  inspiration 
which  was  half  her  nerves  and  half  an  inevitable  har 
mony;  but  what  he  especially  recognised  was  the 

234 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE   DOVE 

character  that  had  already  several  times  broken  out 
in  her  and  that  she  so  oddly  appeared  able  by  choice 
or  by  instinctive  affinity,  to  keep  down  or  to  display. 
She  was  the  American  girl  as  he  had  originally  found 
her — found  her  at  certain  moments,  it  was  true,  in 
New  York,  more  than  at  certain  others;  she  was 
the  American  girl  as,  still  more  than  then,  he  had 
seen  her  on  the  day  of  her  meeting  him,  in  London, 
in  Kate's  company.  It  affected  him  as  a  large 
though  queer  social  resource  in  her — such  as  a  man, 
for  instance,  to  his  diminution,  would  never  in  the 
world  be  able  to  command;  and  he  wouldn't  have 
known  whether  to  see  it  in  an  extension  or  a  con 
traction  of  "  personality,"  taking  it  as  he  did  most 
directly  for  a  confounding  extension  of  surface. 
Clearly  too  it  was  the  right  thing,  this  evening,  all 
round :  that  came  out  for  him  in  a  word  from  Kate 
as  she  approached  him  to  wreak  on  him  a  second 
introduction.  He  had,  under  cover  of  the  music, 
melted  away  from  the  lady  toward  whom  she  had 
first  pushed  him;  and  there  was  something  in  her 
that  he  made  out  as  telling,  evasively,  a  tale  of  their 
talk  in  the  Piazza.  To  what  did  she  want  to  coerce 
him  as  a  form  of  payment  for  what  he  had  done  to 
her  there?  It  was  thus,  in  contact,  uppermost  for 
him  that  he  had  done  something;  not  only  caused 
her  perfect  intelligence  to  act  in  his  interest,  but  left 
her  unable  to  get  away,  by  any  mere  private  effort, 
from  his  inattackable  logic.  With  him  thus  in  pres 
ence,  and  near  him — and  it  had  been  so  unmistaka- 

235 


THE  WINGS   OF  THE   DOVE 

bly  through  dinner — there  was  no  getting  away  for 
her  at  all,  there  was  less  of  it  than  ever :  so  that  she 
could  only  either  deal  with  the  question  straight, 
either  frankly  yield  or  ineffectually  struggle  or  in 
sincerely  argue,  or  else  merely  express  herself  by 
following  up  the  advantage  she  did  possess.  It  was 
part  of  that  advantage,  for  the  hour — a  brief,  falla 
cious  makeweight  to  his  pressure — that  there  were 
plenty  of  things  left  in  which  he  must  feel  her  will. 
They  only  told  him,  these  indications,  how  much 
she  was,  in  such  close  quarters,  feeling  his;  and  it 
was  enough  for  him  again  that  her  very  aspect,  as 
great  a  variation,  in  its  way,  as  Milly's  own,  gave  him 
back  the  sense  of  his  action.  It  had  never  yet  in 
life  been  granted  him  to  know,  almost  materially  to 
taste,  as  he  could  do  in  these  minutes,  the  state  of 
what  was  vulgarly  called  victory.  He  had  lived 
long  enough  to  have  been  on  occasion  "  liked,"  but 
it  had  never  begun  to  be  allowed  him  to  be  liked  to 
any  such  tune  in  any  such  quarter.  It  was  a  liking 
greater  than  Milly's — or  it  would  be:  he  felt  it  in 
him  to  answer  for  that.  So  at  all  events  he  read  the 
case  while  he  noted  that  Kate  was  somehow — for 
Kate — wanting  in  lustre.  As  a  striking  young 
presence  she  was  practically  superseded;  of  the 
mildness  that  Milly  diffused  she  had  assimilated  all 
her  share;  she  might  fairly  have  been  dressed  to 
night  in  the  little  black  frock,  superficially  indistin 
guishable,  that  Milly  had  laid  aside.  This  repre 
sented,  he  perceived,  the  opposite  pole  from  such  an 

236 


THE    WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

effect  as  that  of  her  wonderful  entrance,  under  her 
aunt's  eyes — he  had  never  forgotten  it — the  day  of 
their  younger  friend's  failure  at  Lancaster  Gate. 
She  was,  in  her  accepted  effacement — it  was  actually 
her  acceptance  that  made  the  beauty  and  repaired 
the  damage — under  her  aunt's  eyes  now;  but  whose 
eyes  were  not  effectually  preoccupied?  It  struck 
him,  none  the  less,  certainly,  that  almost  the  first 
thing  she  said  to  him  showed  an  exquisite  attempt 
to  appear  if  not  unconvinced,  at  least  self-possessed. 
"  Don't  you  think  her  good  enough  now?  " 
She  looked  at  Milly  from  where  they  stood,  noted 
her  in  renewed  talk,  over  her  further  wishes,  with 
her  little  orchestra,  who  had  approached  her  with 
demonstrations  of  deference  enlivened  by  native 
freedoms  that  were  quite  in  the  note  of  old  Venetian 
comedy.  The  girl's  idea  of  music  had  been  happy 
— a  real  solvent  of  shyness,  yet  not  drastic;  thanks 
to  the  intermissions,  discretions,  a  general  habit  of 
mercy  to  gathered  barbarians,  that  reflected  the 
good  manners  of  its  interpreters,  representatives 
though  these  might  be  but  of  the  order  in  which 
taste  was  natural  and  melody  rank.  It  was  easy,  at 
all  events,  to  answer  Kate.  "  Ah,  my  dear,  you 
know  how  good  I  think  her !  " 

"  But  she's  too  nice,"  Kate  returned  with  appreci 
ation.  "  Everything  suits  her  so — especially  her 
pearls.  They  go  so  with  her  old  lace.  I'll  trouble 
you  really  to  look  at  them."  Densher,  though 
aware  he  had  seen  them  before,  had  perhaps  not 

237 


THE   WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

"  really  "  looked  at  them,  and  had  thus  not  done 
justice  to  the  embodied  poetry — his  mind,  for  Mil- 
ly's  aspects,  kept  coming  back  to  that — which  owed 
them  part  of  its  style.  Kate's  face,  as  she  consid 
ered  them,  struck  him;  the  long,  priceless  chain, 
wound  twice  round  the  neck,  hung,  heavy  and  pure, 
down  the  front  of  the  wearer's  breast — so  far  down 
that  Milly's  trick,  evidently  unconscious,  of  holding 
and  vaguely  fingering  and  entwining  a  part  of  it, 
conduced  presumably  to  convenience.  "  She's  a 
dove,"  Kate  went  on,  "  and  one  somehow  doesn't 
think  of  doves  as  bejewelled.  Yet  they  suit  her 
down  to  the  ground." 

'  Yes — down  to  the  ground  is  the  word."  Den- 
sher  saw  now  how  they  suited  her,  but  was  perhaps 
still  more  aware  of  something  intense  in  his  compan 
ion's  feeling  about  them.  Milly  was  indeed  a  dove; 
this  was  the  figure,  though  it  most  applied  to  her 
spirit.  But  he  knew  in  a  moment  that  Kate  was 
just  now,  for  reasons  hidden  from  him,  exception 
ally  under  the  impression  of  that  element  of  wealth 
in  her  which  was  a  power,  which  was  a  great  power, 
and  which  was  dove-like  only  so  far  as  one  remem 
bered  that  doves  have  wings  and  wondrous  flights, 
have  them  as  well  as  tender  tints  and  soft  sounds. 
It  even  came  to  Densher  dimly  that  such  wings 
could  in  a  given  case — had,  in  fact,  in  the  case  in 
which  he  was  concerned — spread  themselves  for 
protection.  Hadn't  they,  for  that  matter,  lately 
taken  an  inordinate  reach,  and  weren't  Kate  and 

238 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

Mrs.  Lowder,  weren't  Susan  Shepherd  and  he, 
wasn't  he  in  particular,  nestling  under  them  to  a 
great  increase  of  immediate  ease?  All  this  was  a 
brighter  blur  in  the  general  light,  out  of  which  he 
heard  Kate  presently  going  on. 

"  Pearls  have  such  a  magic  that  they  suit  every 


one." 


"  They  would  uncommonly  suit  you,"  he  frankly 
returned. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  see  myself !  " 

As  she  saw  herself,  suddenly,  he  saw  her — she 
would  have  been  splendid;  and  with  it  he  felt  more 
what  she  was  thinking  of.  Milly's  royal  ornament 
had — under  pressure  now  not  wholly  occult — taken 
on  the  character  of  a  symbol  of  differences,  differ 
ences  of  which  the  vision  was  actually  in  Kate's  face. 
It  might  have  been  in  her  face  too  that,  well  as  she 
certainly  would  look  in  pearls,  pearls  were  exactly 
what  Merton  Densher  would  never  be  able  to  give 
her.  Wasn't  that  the  great  difference  that  Milly 
to-night  symbolised?  She  unconsciously  repre 
sented  to  Kate,  and  Kate  took  it  in  at  every  pore, 
that  there  was  nobody  with  whom  she  had  less  in 
common  than  a  remarkably  handsome  girl  married 
to  a  man  unable  to  make  her  on  any  such  lines  as 
that  the  least  little  present.  Of  these  absurdities, 
however,  it  was  not  till  afterwards  that  Densher 
thought.  He  could  think  now,  to  any  purpose, 
only  of  what  Mrs.  Stringham  had  said  to  him  before 
dinner.  He  could  but  come  back  to  his  friend's 

239 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

question  of  a  minute  ago.  "  She's  certainly  good 
enough,  as  you  call  it,  in  the  sense  that  I'm  assured 
she's  better.  Mrs.  Stringham,  an  hour  or  two  since, 
was  gay  to  me  about  it.  She  evidently  believes  her 
better." 

"  Well,  if  they  choose  to  call  it  so !  " 

"  And  what  do  you  call  it — as  against  them?  " 

"  I  don't  call  it  anything  to  any  one  but  you.  I'm 
not  '  against '  them ! "  Kate  added  as  with  just  a 
fresh  breath  of  impatience  for  all  he  had  to  be 
taught. 

"That's  what  I'm  talking  about,"  he  said. 
"  What  do  you  call  it  to  me?  " 

It  made  her  wait  a  little.  "  She  isn't  better. 
She's  worse.  But  that  has  nothing  to  do  with 
it." 

"  Nothing  to  do?  "     He  wondered. 

But  she  was  clear.  "  Nothing  to  do  with  us. 
Except  of  course  that  we're  doing  our  best  for  her. 
We're  making  her  want  to  live."  And  Kate  again 
watched  her.  "  To-night  she  does  want  to  live." 
She  spoke  with  a  kindness  that  had  the  strange 
property  of  striking  him  as  inconsequent — so  much, 
and  doubtless  so  unjustly,  had  all  her  clearness  been 
an  implication  of  the  hard.  "  It's  wonderful.  It's 
beautiful." 

"  It's  beautiful  indeed." 

He  hated  somehow  the  helplessness  of  his  own 
note;  but  she  had  given  it  no  heed.  "  She's  doing 
it  for  him  " — and  she  nodded  in  the  direction  of 

240 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

Milly's  medical  visitor.  "  She  wants  to  be  for  him 
at  her  best.  But  she  can't  deceive  him." 

Densher  had  been  looking  too;  which  made  him 
say  in  a  moment :  "  And  do  you  think  you  can?  I 
mean,  if  he's  to  be  with  us  here,  about  your  senti 
ments.  If  Aunt  Maud's  so  thick  with  him !  " 

Aunt  Maud  now  occupied  in  fact  a  place  at  his 
side,  and  was  visibly  doing  her  best  to  entertain  him, 
though  this  failed  to  prevent  such  a  direction  of  his 
own  eyes — determined,  in  the  way  such  things  hap 
pen,  precisely  by  the  attention  of  the  others — as 
Densher  became  aware  of  and  as  Kate  promptly 
noted.  "  He's  looking  at  you.  He  wants  to  speak 
to  you." 

"  So  Mrs.  Stringham,"  the  young  man  laughed, 
"  advised  me  he  would." 

"  Then  let  him.  Be  right  with  him.  I  don't 
need,"  Kate  went  on  in  answer  to  the  previous 
question,  "  to  deceive  him.  Aunt  Maud,  if  it's  nec 
essary,  will  do  that.  I  mean  that,  knowing  nothing 
about  me,  he  can  see  me  only  as  she  sees  me.  She 
sees  me  now  so  well.  He  has  nothing  to  do  with 
me." 

"  Except  to  reprobate  you,"  Densher  suggested. 

"  For  not  caring  for  you?  Perfectly.  As  a  bril 
liant  young  man  driven  by  it  into  your  relation  with 
Milly — as  all  that  I  leave  you  to  him." 

"  Well,"  said  Densher  sincerely  enough,  "  I  think 
I  can  thank  you  for  leaving  me  to  some  one  easier 

perhaps  with  me  than  yourself." 
VOL.  II. -16  24I 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

She  had  been  looking  about  again  meanwhile,  the 
lady  having  changed  her  place,  for  the  friend  of  Mrs. 
Lowder's  to  whom  she  had  spoken  of  introducing 
him.  "  All  the  more  reason  why  I  should  commit 
you  then  to  Lady  Mills." 

"  Oh,  but  wait."  It  was  not  only  that  he  distin 
guished  Lady  Mills  from  afar,  that  she  inspired  him 
with  no  eagerness,  and  that,  somewhere  at  the  back 
of  his  head,  he  was  fairly  aware  of  the  question,  in 
germ,  of  whether  this  was  the  kind  of  person  he 
should  be  involved  with  when  they  were  married. 
It  was  furthermore  that  the  consciousness  of  some 
thing  he  had  not  got  from  Kate  in  the  morning,  and 
that  logically  much  concerned  him,  had  been  made 
more  keen  by  these  very  moments — to  say  nothing 
of  the  consciousness  that,  with  their  general  small- 
ness  of  opportunity,  he  must  squeeze  each  stray  in 
stant  hard.  If  Aunt  Maud,  over  there  with  Sir 
Luke,  noted  him  as  a  little  "  attentive,"  that  might 
pass  for  a  futile  demonstration  on  the  part  of  a  gen 
tleman  who  had  to  confess  to  having,  not  very 
gracefully,  changed  his  mind.  Besides,  just  now, 
he  didn't  care  for  Aunt  Maud  except  in  so  far  as  he 
was  immediately  to  show.  "  How  can  Mrs.  Low- 
der  think  me  disposed  of,  with  any  finality,  if  I'm  dis 
posed  of  only  to  a  girl  who's  dying?  If  you're  right 
about  that — about  the  true  state  of  the  case,  you're 
wrong  about  Mrs.  Lowder's  being  squared.  If 
Milly,  as  you  say,"  he  lucidly  pursued,  "  can't  de 
ceive  a  great  surgeon,  or  whatever,  the  great  sur- 

242 


THE  WINGS   OF  THE   DOVE 

geon  won't  deceive  other  people — not  those,  that 
is,  who  are  closely  concerned.  He  won't  at  any  rate 
deceive  Mrs.  Stringham,  who's  Milly's  greatest 
friend;  and  it  will  be  very  odd  if  Mrs.  Stringham 
deceives  Aunt  Maud,  who's  her  own." 

Kate  showed  him  at  this  the  cold  glow  of  an  idea 
that  really  was  worth  his  having  kept  her  for. 
"  Why  will  it  be  odd?  I  marvel  at  how  little  you 
see  your  way." 

Mere  curiosity,  even,  about  his  companion  had 
now  for  him  its  quick,  its  slightly  quaking  intensi 
ties.  He  had  compared  her  once,  we  know,  to  a 
"  new  book,"  an  uncut  volume  of  the  highest,  the 
rarest  quality;  and  his  emotion,  to  justify  that,  was 
again  and  again  like  the  thrill  of  turning  the  page. 
"  Well,  you  know  how  deeply  I  marvel  at  the  way 
you  see  it !  " 

"  It  doesn't  in  the  least  follow,"  Kate  went  on, 
"  that  anything  in  the  nature  of  what  you  call  de 
ception  on  Mrs.  Stringham's  part  will  be  what 
you  call  odd.  Why  shouldn't  she  hide  the 
truth?  " 

"  From  Mrs.  Lowder?  "  Densher  stared.  "  Why 
should  she?  " 

"  To  please  you." 

"  And  how  in  the  world  can  it  please  me?  " 

Kate  turned  her  heid  away  as  if  really  at  last 
almost  tired  of  his  density.  But  she  looked  at  him 
again  as  she  spoke.  "  Well  then,  to  please  Milly." 
And  before  he  could  question :  "  Don't  you  feel  by 

243 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

this  time  that  there's  nothing  Susan  Shepherd  won't 
do  for  you?  " 

He  had  in  truth,  after  an  instant,  to  take  it  in,  so 
sharply  it  corresponded  with  the  good  lady's  recent 
reception  of  him.  It  was  queerer  than  anything 
again,  the  way  they  all  came  together  round  him. 
But  that  was  an  old  story,  and  Kate's  multiplied 
lights  led  him  on  and  on.  It  was  with  a  reserve, 
however,  that  he  confessed  this.  "  She's  ever  so 
kind.  Only  her  view  of  the  right  thing  may  not  be 
the  same  as  yours." 

"  How  can  it  be  anything  different  if  it's  the  view 
of  serving  you?  " 

Densher  for  an  instant,  but  only  for  an  instant, 
hung  fire.  "  Oh,  the  difficulty  is  that  I  don't,  upon 
my  honour,  even  yet,  quite  make  out  how  yours 
does  serve  me." 

"  It  helps  you — put  it  then,"  said  Kate  very  sim 
ply — "  to  serve  me.  It  gains  you  time." 

"  Time  for  what?  " 

"  For  everything !  "  She  spoke  at  first,  once 
more,  with  impatience;  then,  as  usual,  she  qualified. 
"  For  anything  that  may  happen." 

Densher  had  a  smile,  but  he  felt  it  himself  as 
strained.  "  You're  cryptic,  my  love !  " 

It  made  her  keep  her  eyes  on  him,  and  he  could 
thus  see  that,  by  one  of  those  incalculable  motions 
in  her  without  which  she  wouldn't  have  been  a  quar 
ter  so  interesting,  they  half  filled  with  tears  from 
some  source  he  had  too  roughly  touched.  "I'm 

244 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

taking  a  trouble  for  you  I  never  dreamed  I  should 
take  for  any  human  creature." 

Oh,  it  went  home,  making  him  flush  for  it;  yet  he 
soon  enough  felt  his  reply  on  his  lips.  "  Well,  isn't 
my  whole  insistence  to  you  now  that  I  can  conjure 
trouble  away?  "  And  he  let  it,  his  insistence,  come 
out  again;  it  had  so  constantly  had,  all  the  week, 
but  its  step  or  two  to  make.  "  There  need  be  none 
whatever  between  us.  There  need  be  nothing  but 
our  sense  of  each  other." 

It  had  only  the  effect,  at  first,  that  her  eyes  grew 
dry  while  she  took  up  again  one  of  the  so  numerous 
links  in  her  close  chain.  "  You  can  tell  her  any 
thing  you  like,  anything  whatever." 

"  Mrs.  Stringham?    I  have  nothing  to  tell  her." 

"  You  can  tell  her  about  us.  I  mean,"  she  won 
derfully  pursued,  "  that  you  do  still  like  me." 

It  was  indeed  so  wonderful  that  it  amused  him. 
"  Only  not  that  you  still  like  me." 

She  let  his  amusement  pass.  "  I'm  absolutely 
certain  she  wouldn't  repeat  it." 

"  I  see.     To  Aunt  Maud." 

"  You  don't  quite  see.  Neither  to  Aunt  Maud 
nor  to  any  one  else."  Kate  then,  he  saw,  was  al 
ways  seeing  Milly  much  more,  after  all,  than  he  was; 
and  she  showed  it  again  as  she  went  on.  "  There, 
accordingly,  is  your  time." 

She  did  at  last  make  him  think,  and  it  was  fairly 
as  if  light  broke,  though  not  quite  all  at  once. 
"  You  must  let  me  say  I  do  see.  Time  for  some- 

245 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

thing  in  particular  that,  I  understand,  you  regard  as 
possible.  Time  too  that,  I  further  understand,  is 
time  for  you  as  well." 

'  Time  indeed  for  me  as  well."  And,  encour 
aged,  visibly,  by  his  glow  of  concentration,  she 
looked  at  him  as  through  the  air  she  had  painfully 
made  clear.  Yet  she  was  still  on  her  guard. 
"  Don't  think,  however,  I'll  do  all  the  work  for  you. 
If  you  want  things  named  you  must  name  them." 

He  had  quite,  within  the  minute,  been  turning 
names  over;  and  there  was  only  one,  which  at  last 
stared  at  him  there  dreadful,  that  properly  fitted. 
"  Since  she's  to  die  I'm  to  marry  her?  " 

It  struck  him  even  at  the  moment  as  fine  in  her 
that  she  met  it  with  no  wincing  nor  mincing.  She 
might,  for  the  grace  of  silence,  for  favour  to  their 
conditions,  have  only  answered  him  with  her  eyes. 
But  her  lips  bravely  moved.  "  To  marry  her." 

"  So  that  when  her  death  has  taken  place  I  shall 
in  the  natural  course  have  money?  " 

It  was  before  him  enough  now,  and  he  had  noth 
ing  more  to  ask;  he  had  only  to  turn,  on  the  spot, 
considerably  cold  with  the  thought  that  all  along — 
to  his  stupidity,  his  timidity — it  had  been,  it  had  been 
only  what  she  meant.  Now  that  he  was  in  posses 
sion,  moreover,  she  couldn't  forbear,  strangely 
enough,  to  pronounce  the  words  she  had  not 
pronounced:  they  broke  through  her  controlled 
and  colourless  voice  as  if  she  should  be  ashamed,  to 
the  very  end,  to  have  flinched.  "  You'll  in  the  nat- 

246 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

ural  course  have  money.  We  shall  in  the  natural 
course  be  free." 

"  Oh,  oh,  oh !  "  Densher  softly  murmured. 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes."  But  she  broke  off.  "  Come  to 
Lady  Mills." 

He  never  budged — there  was  too  much  else. 
"  I'm  to  propose  it  then,  marriage,  on  the  spot?  " 

There  was  no  ironic  sound  he  needed  to  give  it; 
the  more  simply  he  spoke  the  more  he  seemed 
ironic.  But  she  remained  consummately  proof. 
"  Oh,  I  can't  go  into  that  with  you,  and  from  the 
moment  you  don't  wash  your  hands  of  me  I  don't 
think  you  ought  to  ask  me.  You  must  act  as  you 
like  and  as  you  can." 

He  thought  again.  "  I'm  far — as  I  sufficiently 
showed  you  this  morning — from  washing  my  hands 
of  you." 

"  Then,"  said  Kate,  "  it's  all  right." 

"  All  right?  "  His  eagerness  flamed.  "  You'll 
come?  " 

But  he  had  had  to  see  in  a  moment  that  it  wasn't 
what  she  meant.  "  You'll  have  a  free  hand,  a  clear 
field,  a  chance — well,  quite  ideal." 

"  Your  descriptions  " — her  "  ideal  "  was  such  a 
touch ! — "  are  prodigious.  And  what  I  don't  make 
out  is  how,  caring  for  me,  you  can  like  it." 

"  I  don't  like  it,  but  I'm  a  person,  thank  goodness, 
who  can  do  what  I  don't  like." 

It  was  not  till  afterwards  that,  going  back  to  it,  I 
was  to  read  into  this  speech  a  kind  of  heroic  ring,  a 

247 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

note  of  character  that  belittled  his  own  incapacity  for 
action.  Yet  he  saw  indeed  even  at  the  time  the 
greatness  of  knowing  so  well  what  one  wanted.  At 
the  time,  too,  moreover,  he  next  reflected  that  he 
after  all  knew  what  he  did.  But  something  else,  on 
his  lips,  was  uppermost.  "  What  I  don't  make  out 
then  is  how  you  can  even  bear  it." 

"  Well,  when  you  know  me  better  you'll  find  out 
how  much  I  can  bear."  And  she  went  on  before  he 
could  take  up,  as  it  were,  her  too  many  implications. 
That  it  was  left  to  him  to  know  her,  spiritually,  "  bet 
ter  "  after  his  long  sacrifice  to  knowledge — this,  for 
instance,  was  a  truth  he  hadn't  been  ready  to  receive 
so  full  in  the  face.  She  had  mystified  him  enough, 
heaven  knew,  but  that  was  rather  by  his  own  gener 
osity  than  by  hers.  And  what,  with  it,  did  she  seem 
to  suggest  she  might  incur  at  his  hands?  In  spite 
of  these  questions  she  was  carrying  him  on.  "  All 
you'll  have  to  do  will  be  to  stay." 

"  And  proceed  to  my  business  under  your  eyes?  " 

"  Oh  dear,  no — we  shall  go." 

"  '  Go?'  "  he  wondered.     "  Go  when,  go  where?  " 

"In  a  day  or  two — straight  home.  Aunt  Maud 
wishes  it  now." 

It  gave  him  all  he  could  take  in  to  think  of. 
"  Then  what  becomes  of  Miss  Theale?  " 

"  What  I  tell  you.  She  stays  on,  and  you  stay 
with  her." 

He  stared.     "All  alone?" 

She  had  a  smile  that  was  apparently  for  his  tone. 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

"  You're  old  enough — with  plenty  of  Mrs.  String- 
ham." 

Nothing  might  have  been  so  odd  for  him  now, 
could  he  have  measured  it,  as  his  being  able  to  feel, 
quite  while  he  drew  from  her  these  successive  cues, 
that  he  was  essentially  "  seeing  what  she  would  say  " 
— an  instinct  compatible  for  him  therefore  with 
that  absence  of  a  need  to  know  her  better  to  which 
she  had  a  moment  before  done  injustice.  If  it  hadn't 
been  appearing  to  him  in  gleams  that  she  would 
somewhere  break  down,  he  probably  couldn't  have 
gone  on.  Still,  as  she  wasn't  breaking  down  there 
was  nothing  for  him  but  to  continue.  "  Is  your 
going  Mrs.  Lowder's  idea?  " 

"  Very  much  indeed.  Of  course  again  you  see 
what  it  does  for  us.  And  I  don't,"  she  added,  "  refer 
only  to  our  going,  but  to  Aunt  Maud's  view  of  the 
general  propriety  of  it." 

"  I  see  again,  as  you  say,"  Densher  said  after  a 
moment.  "  It  makes  everything  fit." 

"  Everything." 

The  word,  for  a  little,  held  the  air,  and  he  might 
have  seemed  the  while  to  be  looking,  by  no  means 
dimly  now,  at  all  it  stood  for.  But  he  had  in  fact 
been  looking  at  something  else.  "  You  leave  her 
here  then  to  die?" 

"  Ah,  she  believes  she  won't  die.  Not  if  you  stay. 
I  mean,"  Kate  explained,  "  Aunt  Maud  believes." 

"  And  that's  all  that's  necessary?  " 

Still,  indeed,  she  didn't  break  down.  "  Didn't  we 
249 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

long  ago  agree  that  what  she  believes  is  the  princi 
pal  thing  for  us?  " 

He  recalled  it,  under  her  eyes,  but  it  came  as  from 
long  ago.  "  Oh  yes.  I  can't  deny  it."  Then  he 

added :     "  So  that  if  I  stay " 

"  It  won't  " — she  was  prompt — "  be  our  fault." 
"  If  Mrs.  Lowder  still,  you  mean,  suspects  us?  " 
"  If  she  still  suspects  us.     But  she  won't." 
Kate  gave  it  an  emphasis  that  might  have  ap 
peared  to  leave  him  nothing  more;  and  he  might  in 
fact  well  have  found  nothing  if  he  had  not  presently 
found :     "  But  what  if  she  doesn't  accept  me?  " 

It  produced  in  her  a  look  of  weariness  that  made 
the  patience  of  her  tone  the  next  moment  touch 
him.  "You  can  but  try." 

"  Naturally,  I  can  but  try.  Only,  you  see,  one 
has  to  try  a  little  hard  to  propose  to  a  dying  girl." 

"  She  isn't  for  you  as  if  she's  dying."  It  had  deter 
mined  in  Kate  the  flash  of  justesse  that  he  could  per 
haps  most,  on  consideration,  have  admired,  for  her 
retort  touched  the  truth.  There  before  him  was  the 
fact  of  how  Milly  to-night  impressed  him,  and  his 
companion,  with  her  eyes  in  his  own  and  pursuing 
his  impression  to  the  depths  of  them,  literally  now 
perched  on  the  fact  in  triumph.  She  turned  her 
head  to  where  their  friend  was  again  in  range,  and  it 
made  him  turn  his,  so  that  they  watched  a  minute  in 
concert.  Milly,  from  the  other  side,  happened  at 
the  moment  to  notice  them,  and  she  sent  across  to 
ward  them  in  response  all  the  candour  of  her  smile, 

250 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

the  lustre  of  her  pearls,  the  value  of  her  life,  the 
essence  of  her  wealth.  It  brought  them,  with  faces 
made  fairly  grave  by  the  reality  she  put  into  their 
plan,  together  again;  Kate  herself  grew  a  little  pale 
for  it,  and  they  had  for  a  time  only  a  silence. 
The  music,  however,  gay  and  vociferous,  had  broken 
out  afresh  and  protected  more  than  interrupted 
them.  When  Densher  at  last  spoke  it  was  under 
cover. 

"  I  might  stay,  you  know,  without  trying." 

"Oh,  to  stay  is  to  try." 

"  To  have  for  herself,  you  mean,  the  appearance 
of  it?" 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can  have  the  appearance 


more." 


Densher  waited.  '  You  think  it  then  possible  she 
may  offer  marriage?  " 

"  I  can't  think — if  you  really  want  to  know — 
what  she  may  not  offer !  " 

"  In  the  manner  of  princesses,  who  do  such 
things?  " 

"  In  any  manner  you  like.     So  be  prepared." 

Well,  he  looked  as  if  he  almost  were.  "  It  will  be 
for  me  then  to  accept.  But  that's  the  way  it  must 
come." 

Kate's  silence,  so  far,  let  it  pass;  but  she  presently 
said :  :<  You'll,  on  your  honour,  stay  then?  " 

His  answer  made  her  wait,  but  when  it  came  it  was 
distinct.  "  Without  you,  you  mean?  " 

"  Without  us." 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 


"  And  you  go  yourselves,  at  latest- 
"  Not  later  than  Thursday." 


It  made  three  days.  "  Well,"  he  said,  "  I'll  stay, 
on  my  honour,  if  you'll  come  to  me.  On  your  hon 
our." 

Again,  as  before,  this  made  her  momentarily  rigid, 
with  a  rigour  out  of  which,  at  a  loss,  she  vaguely  cast 
about  her.  Her  rigour  was  more  to  him,  neverthe 
less,  than  all  her  readiness;  for  her  readiness  was  the 
woman  herself,  and  this  other  thing  was  a  mask,  a 
"  dodge."  She  cast  about,  however,  as  happened, 
not,  for  the  instant,  in  vain.  Her  eyes,  turned  over 
the  room,  caught  at  a  pretext.  "  Lady  Mills  is  tired 
of  waiting :  she's  coming — see — to  us." 

Densher  saw  in  fact,  but  there  was  a  distance  for 
their  visitor  to  cross,  and  he  still  had  time.  "  If  you 
decline  to  understand  me  I  wholly  decline  to  under 
stand  you.  I'll  do  nothing." 

"  Nothing?  "  It  was  as  if  she  tried  for  the  min 
ute  to  plead. 

"  I'll  do  nothing.  I'll  leave  before  you.  I'll  leave 
to-morrow.  " 

He  was  to  have  afterwards  the  sense  of  her  having 
then,  as  the  phrase  was — and  for  vulgar  triumphs  too 
— seen  he  meant  it.  She  looked  again  at  Lady 
Mills,  who  was  nearer,  but  she  quickly  came  back. 
"And  if  I  do  understand?" 

"  I'll  do  everything." 

She  found  anew  a  pretext  in  her  approaching 
friend :  he  was  fairly  playing  with  her  pride.  He  had 

252 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

never,  he  then  knew,  tasted,  in  all  his  relation  with 
her,  of  anything  so  sharp — too  sharp  for  mere  sweet 
ness — as  the  vividness  with  which  he  saw  himself 
master  in  the  conflict.  "  Well,  I  understand." 

"  On  your  honour?  " 

"  On  my  honour." 

"  You'll  come?  " 

"  I'll  come." 


BOOK  NINTH 


BOOK  NINTH 
XXIX 

IT  was  after  they  had  gone  that  he  ,truly  felt  the 
difference,  which  was  most  to  be  felt  moreover 
in  his  faded  old  rooms.  He  had  recovered  from  the 
first  a  part  of  his  attachment  to  this  scene  of  contem 
plation,  within  sight,  as  it  was,  of  the  Rialto  bridge, 
on  the  hither  side  of  that  arch  of  associations  and  the 
left  going  up  the  Canal;  he  had  seen  it  in  a  particular 
light,  to  which,  more  and  more,  his  mind  and  his 
hands  adjusted  it;  but  the  interest  the  place  now 
wore  for  him  had  risen  at  a  bound,  becoming  a  force 
that,  on  the  spot,  completely  engaged  and  absorbed 
him,  and  relief  from  which — if  relief  was  the  name — 
he  could  find  only  by  getting  away  and  out  of  reach. 
What  had  come  to  pass  within  his  walls  lingered 
there  as  an  obsession  importunate  to  all  his  senses; 
it  lived  again,  as  a  cluster  of  pleasant  memories,  at 
every  hour  and  in  every  object;  it  made  everything 
but  itself  irrelevant  and  tasteless.  It  remained,  in  a 
word,  a  conscious,  watchful  presence,  active  on  its 
own  side,  forever  to  be  reckoned  with,  in  face  of 
which  the  effort  at  detachment  was  scarcely  less  fu 
tile  than  frivolous.  Kate  had  come  to  him;  it  was 
only  once — and  this  not  from  any  failure  of  their 
VOL.  II.— 17  257 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

need,  but  from  such  impossibilities,  for  bravery  alike 
and  for  subtlety,  as  there  was  at  the  last  no  blinking; 
yet  she  had  come,  that  once,  to  stay,  as  people  called 
it;  and  what  survived  of  her,  what  reminded  and  in 
sisted,  was  something  he  couldn't  have  banished  if 
he  had  wished.  Luckily  he  didn't  wish,  even  though 
there  might  be  for  a  man  almost  a  shade  of  the  awful 
in  so  unqualified  a  consequence  of  his  act.  It  had 
simply  worked,  his  idea,  the  idea  he  had  made  her 
accept;  and  all  erect  before  him,  really  covering  the 
ground  as  far  as  he  could  see,  was  the  fact  of  the 
gained  success  that  this  represented.  It  was,  other 
wise,  but  the  fact  of  the  idea  as  directly  applied,  as 
converted  from  a  luminous  conception  into  an  his 
toric  truth.  He  had  known  it  before  but  as  desired 
and  urged,  as  convincingly  insisted  on  for  the  help  it 
would  render;  so  that  at  present,  with  the  help  ren 
dered,  it  seemed  to  acknowledge  its  office  and  to  set 
up,  for  memory  and  faith,  an  insistence  of  its  own. 
He  had,  in  fine,  judged  his  friend's  pledge  in  advance 
as  an  inestimable  value,  and  what  he  must  not  know 
his  case  for  was  that  of  a  possession  of  the  value  to  the 
full.  Wasn't  it  perhaps  even  rather  the  value  that 
possessed  him,  kept  him  thinking  of  it  and  waiting 
on  it,  turning  round  and  round  it  and  making  sure 
of  it  again  from  this  side  and  that. 

It  played  for  him — certainly  in  this  prime  after 
glow — the  part  of  a  treasure  kept,  at  home,  in  safety 
and  sanctity,  something  he  was  sure  of  finding  in  its 
place  when,  with  each  return,  he  worked  his  heavy 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

old  key  in  the  lock.  The  door  had  but  to  open  for 
him  to  be  with  it  again  and  for  it  to  be  all  there;  so 
intensely  there  that,  as  we  say,  no  other  act  was  pos 
sible  to  him  than  the  renewed  act,  almost  the  hallu 
cination,  of  intimacy.  Wherever  he  looked  or  sat 
or  stood,  to  whatever  aspect  he  gave  for  the  instant 
the  advantage,  it  was  in  view  as  nothing  of  the  mo 
ment,  nothing  begotten  of  time  or  of  chance  could 
be,  or  ever  would;  it  was  in  view  as,  when  the  curtain 
has  risen,  the  play  on  the  stage  is  in  view,  night  after 
night,  for  the  fiddlers.  He  remained  thus,  in  his 
own  theatre,  in  his  single  person,  perpetual  orches 
tra  to  the  ordered  drama,  the  confirmed  "  run  "; 
playing  low  and  slow,  moreover,  in  the  regular  way, 
for  the  situations  of  most  importance.  No  other 
visitor  was  to  come  to  him;  he  met,  he  bumped  occa 
sionally,  in  the  Piazza  or  in  his  walks,  against  claim 
ants  to  acquaintance,  remembered  or  forgotten,  at 
present  mostly  effusive,  sometimes  even  inquisitive; 
but  he  gave  no  address  and  encouraged  no  ap 
proach;  he  couldn't,  for  his  life,  he  felt,  have  opened 
his  door  to  a  third  person.  Such  a  person  would  have 
interrupted  him,  would  have  profaned  his  secret  or 
perhaps  have  guessed  it;  would  at  any  rate  have 
broken  the  spell  of  what  he  conceived  himself — in 
the  absence  of  anything  "  to  show  " — to  be  inwardly 
doing.  He  was  giving  himself  up — that  was  quite 
enough — to  the  general  feeling  of  his  renewed  en 
gagement  to  fidelity.  The  force  of  the  engage 
ment,  the  quantity  of  the  article  to  be  supplied,  the 

259 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

special  solidity  of  the  contract,  the  way,  above  all,  as 
a  service  for  which  the  price  named  by  him  had  been 
magnificently  paid,  his  equivalent  office  was  to  take 
effect — such  items  might  well  fill  his  consciousness 
when  there  was  nothing  from  outside  to  interfere. 
Never  was  a  consciousness  more  rounded  and  fast 
ened  down  over  what  filled  it;  which  is  precisely  what 
we  have  spoken  of  as,  in  its  degree,  the  oppression  of 
success,  the  somewhat  chilled  state — tending  to  the 
solitary — of  supreme  recognition.  If  it  was  lightly 
awful  to  feel  so  justified,  this  was  by  the  loss  of  the 
warmth  of  the  element  of  mystery.  The  lucid  reigned 
instead  of  it,  and  it  was  into  the  lucid  that  he  sat  and 
stared.  He  shook  himself  out  of  it  a  dozen  times 
a  day,  tried  to  break  by  his  own  act  his  constant  still 
communion.  It  wasn't  still  communion  she  had 
meant  to  bequeath  him;  it  was  the  very  different 
business  of  that  kind  of  fidelity  of  which  the  other 
name  was  careful  action. 

Nothing,  he  perfectly  knew,  was  less  like  careful 
action  than  the  immersion  he  enjoyed  at  home.  The 
actual  grand  queerness  was  that  to  be  faithful  to 
Kate  he  had  positively  to  take  his  eyes,  his  arms,  his 
lips  straight  off  her — he  had  to  let  her  alone.  He 
had  to  remember  it  was  time  to  go  to  the  palace — 
which,  in  truth,  was  a  mercy,  since  the  check  was 
imperative.  What  it  came  to,  fortunately,  as  yet, 
was  that  when  he  closed  the  door  behind  him  for  an 
absence  he  always  shut  her  in.  Shut  her  out — it 
came  to  that  rather,  when  once  he  had  got  a  little 

260 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

away;  and  before  he  reached  the  palace,  much  more 
after  hearing  at  his  heels  the  bang  of  the  greater 
portone,  he  felt  free  enough  not  to  know  his  position 
as  oppressively  false.  As  Kate  was  all  in  his  poor 
rooms,  and  not  a  ghost  of  her  left  for  the  grander, 
it  was  only  on  reflection  that  the  falseness  came  out; 
so  long  as  he  left  it  to  the  mercy  of  beneficent 
chance  it  offered  him  no  face  and  made  of  him  no 
claim  that  he  couldn't  meet  without  aggravation  of 
his  inward  sense.  This  aggravation  had  been  his 
original  horror;  yet  what — in  Milly's  presence,  each 
day — was  horror  doing  with  him  but  virtually  letting 
him  off?  He  shouldn't  perhaps  get  off  to  the  end; 
there  was  time  enough  still  for  the  possibility  of 
shame  to  pounce.  Still,  however,  he  did  constantly  a 
little  more  what  he  liked  best,  and  that  kept  him,  for 
the  time,  more  safe.  What  he  liked  best  was,  in  any 
case,  to  know  why  things  were  as  he  felt  them;  and 
he  knew  it  pretty  well,  in  this  case,  ten  days  after  the 
retreat  of  his  other  friends.  He  then  fairly  per 
ceived  that — even  putting  their  purity  of  motive  at 
its  highest — it  was  neither  Kate  nor  he  who  made 
his  strange  relation  to  Milly,  who  made  her  own,  so 
far  as  it  might  be,  innocent;  it  was  neither  of  them 
who  practically  purged  it — if  practically  purged  it 
was.  Milly  herself  did  everything — so  far  at  least 
as  he  was  concerned — Milly  herself,  and  Milly's 
house,  and  Milly's  hospitality,  and  Milly's  manner, 
and  Milly's  character,  and,  perhaps  still  more  than 
anything  else,  Milly's  imagination,  Mrs.  Stringham 

261 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE   DOVE 

and  Sir  Luke  indeed  a  little  aiding :  whereby  he  knew 
the  blessing  of  a  fair  pretext  to  ask  himself  what 
more  he  had  to  do.  Something  incalculable  wrought 
for  them — for  him  and  Kate;  something  outside,  be 
yond,  above  themselves,  and  doubtless  ever  so  much 
better,  than  they :  which  wasn't  a  reason,  however — 
its  being  so  much  better — for  them  not  to  profit  by 
it.  Not  to  profit  by  it,  so  far  as  profit  could  be  reck 
oned,  would  have  been  to  go  directly  against  it;  and 
the  spirit  of  generosity  at  present  engendered  in 
Densher  could  have  felt  no  greater  pang  than  by  his 
having  to  go  directly  against  Milly. 

To  go  with  her  was  the  thing,  so  far  as  she  could 
herself  go;  which,  from  the  moment  her  tenure  of 
her  loved  palace  was  prolonged,  was  only  possible  by 
his  remaining  near  her.  This  remaining  was  of 
course,  on  the  face  of  it,  the  most  "  marked  "  of 
demonstrations — which  was  exactly  why  Kate  had 
required  it;  it  was  so  marked  that  on  the  very  even 
ing  of  the  day  it  had  taken  effect  Milly  herself  had 
not  been  able  not  to  reach  out  to  him,  with  an  ex 
quisite  awkwardness,  for  some  account  of  it.  It  was 
as  if  she  had  wanted  from  him  some  name  that,  now 
they  were  to  be  almost  alone  together,  they 
could,  for  their  further  ease,  know  it  and  call 
it  by — it  being,  after  all,  almost  rudimentary  that 
his  presence,  of  which  the  absence  of  the  oth 
ers  made  quite  a  different  thing,  couldn't  but 
have  for  himself  some  definite  basis.  She  only 
wondered  about  the  basis  it  would  have  for  himself, 

262 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

and  how  he  would  describe  it;  that  would  quite 
do  for  her — it  even  would  have  done  for  her, 
he  could  see,  had  he  produced  some  reason  merely 
common,  had  he  said  he  was  waiting  for  money,  or 
for  clothes,  or  for  letters,  or  for  orders  from  Fleet 
Street,  without  which,  as  she  might  have  heard, 
newspaper  men  never  took  a  step.  He  hadn't,  in 
the  event,  quite  sunk  to  that;  but  he  had  none  the 
less  had  three  with  her,  that  night,  on  Mrs.  String- 
ham's  leaving  them  alone — Mrs.  Stringham  proved 
really  prodigious — his  acquaintance  with  a  shade 
of  awkwardness  darker  than  any  Milly  could  know. 
He  had  supposed  himself,  beforehand,  on  the  ques 
tion  of  what  he  was  doing  or  pretending,  in  posses 
sion  of  some  tone  that  would  serve;  but  there  were 
three  minutes  in  which  he  found  himself  incapable 
of  promptness  quite  as  a  gentleman  whose  pocket 
has  been  picked  finds  himself  incapable  of  purchase. 
It  even  didn't  help  him,  oddly,  that  he  was  sure  Kate 
would  in  some  way  have  spoken  for  him— or,  rather, 
not  so  much  in  some  way  as  in  one  very  particular 
way.  He  hadn't  asked  her,  at  the  last,  what  she 
might,  in  the  connection,  have  said;  nothing  would 
have  induced  him  to  ask,  after  she  had  been  to  see 
him :  his  lips  were  so  sealed  by  that  passage,  his  spirit 
in  fact  so  hushed,  in  respect  to  any  charge  upon  her 
freedom.  There  was  something  he  could  only 
therefore  read  back  into  the  probabilities,  and  when 
he  left  the  palace,  an  hour  afterwards,  it  was  with  a 
sense  of  having  breathed  there,  in  the  very  air,  the 
truth  he  imagined. 

263 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

Just  this  perception  it  was,  however,  that  had 
made  him,  for  the  time,  ugly  to  himself  in  his  awk 
wardness.  It  was  horrible,  with  this  creature,  to  be 
awkward;  it  was  odious  to  be  seeking  excuses  for 
the  relation  that  involved  it.  Any  relation  that 
involved  it  was  by  the  very  fact  as  much  discredited 
as  a  dish  would  be  at  dinner  if  one  had  to  take  medi 
cine  as  a  sauce.  What  Kate  would  have  said  in  one  of 
the  young  women's  last  talks  was  that — if  Milly 
absolutely  must  have  the  truth  about  it — Mr.  Den- 
sher  was  staying  because  she  had  really  seen  no  way 
but  to  require  it  of  him.  If  he  stayed  he  didn't  fol 
low  her — or  didn't  appear  to  her  aunt  to  be  doing 
so;  and  when  she  kept  him  from  following  her  Mrs. 
Lowder  couldn't  pretend,  in  scenes,  the  renewal  of 
which  at  this  time  of  day  was  painful,  that  she  after 
all  didn't  snub  him  as  she  might.  She  did  nothing 
in  fact  but  snub  him — wouldn't  that  have  been  part 
of  the  story? — only  Aunt  Maud's  suspicions  were  of 
the  sort  that  had  repeatedly  to  be  dealt  with.  He 
had  been,  by  the  same  token,  reasonable  enough — 
as  he  now,  for  that  matter,  well  might;  he  had  con 
sented  to  oblige  them,  aunt  and  niece,  by  giving  the 
plainest  sign  possible  that  he  could  exist  away  from 
London.  To  exist  away  from  London  was  to  exist 
away  from  Kate  Croy — which  was  a  gain,  much  ap 
preciated,  to  the  latter's  comfort.  There  was  a  min 
ute,  at  this  hour,  out  of  Densher's  three,  during 
which  he  knew  the  terror  of  Milly's  bringing  out 
some  such  allusion  to  their  friend's  explanation  as 

264 


THE  WINGS    OF   THE  DOVE 

he  must  meet  with  words  that  wouldn't  destroy  it. 
To  destroy  it  was  to  destroy  everything,  to  destroy 
probably  Kate  herself,  to  destroy  in  particular  by  a 
breach  of  faith  still  uglier  than  anything  else,  the 
beauty  of  their  own  last  passage.  He  had  given  her 
his  word  of  honour  that  if  she  would  come  to  him  he 
would  act  absolutely  in  her  sense,  and  he  had  done 
so  with  a  full  enough  vision  of  what  her  sense  im 
plied.  What  it  implied,  for  one  thing,  was  that,  to 
night,  in  the  great  saloon,  noble  in  its  half-lighted 
beauty,  and  straight  in  the  white  face  of  his  young 
hostess,  divine  in  her  trust,  or  at  any  rate  inscrutable 
in  her  mercy — what  it  implied  was  that  he  should  lie 
with  his  lips.  The  single  thing,  of  all  things,  that 
could  save  him  from  it  would  be  Milly's  letting  him 
off  after  having  thus  scared  him.  What  made  her 
mercy  inscrutable  was  that  if  she  had  already  more 
than  once  saved  him  it  was  yet  apparently  without 
knowing  how  nearly  he  was  lost. 

These  were  transcendent  motions,  not  the  less 
blessed  for  being  obscure;  whereby,  yet  once  more, 
he  was  to  feel  the  pressure  lighten.  He  was  kept  on 
his  feet,  in  short,  by  the  felicity  of  her  not  presenting 
him  with  Kate's  version  as  a  version  to  adopt.  He 
couldn't  stand  up  to  lie — he  felt  as  if  he  would  have 
to  go  down  on  his  knees.  As  it  was  he  just  sat  there 
shaking  a  little  for  nervousness  the  leg  he  had 
crossed  over  the  other.  She  was  sorry  for  his  snub, 
but  he  had  nothing  more  to  subscribe  to,  to  perjure 
himself  about,  than  the  three  or  four  inanities  he 

265 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

had,  on  his  own  side,  feebly  prepared  for  the  crisis. 
He  scrambled  a  little  higher  than  the  reference  to 
money  and  clothes,  letters  and  directions  from  his 
manager;  but  he  brought  out  the  beauty  of  the 
chance  for  him — there  before  him  like  a  temptress 
painted  by  Titian — to  do  a  little  quiet  writing.  He 
was  vivid,  for  a  moment,  on  the  difficulty  of  writing 
quietly  in  London;  and  he  was  precipitate,  almost 
explosive,  on  his  idea,  long  cherished,  of  a  book. 

The  explosion  lighted  her  face.  "  You'll  do  your 
book  here?  " 

"  I  hope  to  begin  it." 

"  It's  something  you  haven't  begun?  " 

"  Well,  only  just." 

"  And  since  you  came?  " 

She  was  so  full  of  interest  that  he  shouldn't  per 
haps  after  all  be  too  easily  let  off.  "  I  tried  to  think 
a  few  days  ago  that  I  had  broken  ground." 

Scarcely  anything,  it  was  indeed  clear,  could  have 
let  him  in  deeper.  "  I'm  afraid  we've  made  an  awful 
mess  of  your  time." 

"  Of  course  you  have.  But  what  I'm  hanging  on 
for  now  is  precisely  to  repair  that  ravage." 

"  Then  you  mustn't  mind  me,  you  know." 

"  You'll  see,"  he  tried  to  say  with  ease,  "  how  lit 
tle  I  shall  mind  anything." 

"  You'll  want  " — Milly  had  thrown  herself  into  it 
— "  the  best  part  of  your  days." 

He  thought  a  moment;  he  did  what  he  could  to 
wreathe  it  in  smiles.  "  Oh,  I  shall  make  shift  with 

266 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

the  worst  part.  The  best  will  be  for  you."  And  he 
wished  Kate  could  hear  him.  It  didn't  help  him 
moreover  that  he  visibly,  even  pathetically,  imaged 
to  her  by  such  touches  his  quest  for  comfort  against 
discipline.  He  was  to  sink  Kate's  snub,  and  also 
the  hard  law  she  had  now  laid  on  him,  in  a  high  intel 
lectual  effort.  This  at  least  was  his  crucifixion — 
that  Milly  was  so  interested.  She  was  so  interested 
that  she  presently  asked  him  if  he  found  his  rooms 
propitious,  while  he  felt  that  in  just  decently  answer 
ing  her  he  put  on  a  brazen  mask.  He  should  need 
it  quite  particularly  were  she  to  express  again  her 
imagination  of  coming  to  tea  with  him — an  extrem 
ity  that  he  saw  he  was  not  to  be  spared.  "  We 
depend  on  you,  Susie  and  I,  you  know,  not  to  forget 
we're  coming  " — the  extremity  was  but  to  face  that 
remainder,  yet  it  demanded  all  his  tact.  Facing 
their  visit  itself — to  this,  no  matter  what  he  might 
have  to  do,  he  would  never  consent,  as  we  know,  to 
be  pushed;  and  that  even  though  it  might  be  exactly 
such  a  demonstration  as  would  figure  for  him  at  the 
top  of  Kate's  list  of  his  proprieties.  He  could 
wonder  freely  enough,  deep  within,  if  Kate's  view 
of  that  especial  propriety  had  not  been  modified 
by  a  subsequent  occurrence;  but  his  deciding 
that  it  was  quite  likely  not  to  have  been  had 
no  effect  on  his  own  preference  for  tact.  It 
pleased  him  to  think  of  "  tact "  as  his  present 
prop  in  doubt;  that  glossed  his  predicament 
over,  for  it  was  of  application  among  the  sensitive 

267 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

and  the  kind.  He  wasn't  inhuman,  in  fine,  so  long 
as  it  would  serve.  It  had  to  serve  now,  accordingly, 
to  help  him  not  to  sweeten  Milly's  hopes.  He  didn't 
want  to  be  rude  to  them,  but  he  still  less  wanted 
them  to  flower  again  in  the  particular  connection;  so 
that,  casting  about  him,  in  his  anxiety,  for  a  middle 
way  to  meet  her,  he  put  his  foot,  with  unhappy 
effect,  just  in  the  wrong  place.  "  Will  it  be  safe  for 
you  to  break  into  your  custom  of  not  leaving  the 
house?" 

"  '  Safe  ' ?  "     She  had  for  twenty  seconds  an 

exquisite  pale  glare.  Oh,  but  he  didn't  need  it,  by 
that  time,  to  wince;  he  had  winced,  for  himself,  as 
soon  as  he  had  made  his  mistake.  He  had  done 
what,  so  unforgettably,  she  had  asked  him  in  Lon 
don  not  to  do;  he  had  touched,  all  alone  with  her 
here,  the  supersensitive  nerve  of  which  she  had 
warned  him.  He  had  not,  since  the  occasion  in 
London,  touched  it  again  till  now;  but  he  saw  him 
self  freshly  warned  that  it  was  able  to  bear  still  less. 
So  for  the  moment  he  knew  as  little  what  to  do  as  he 
had  ever  known  it  in  his  life.  He  couldn't  emphasise 
that  he  thought  of  her  as  dying,  yet  he  couldn't  pre 
tend  he  thought  of  her  as  indifferent  to  precau 
tions.  Meanwhile  too  she  had  narrowed  his  choice. 
'  You  suppose  me  so  awfully  bad?  " 

He  turned,  in  his  pain,  within  himself;  but  by  the 
time  the  colour  had  mounted  to  the  roots  of  his  hair 
he  had  found  what  he  wanted.  "  I'll  believe  what 
ever  you  tell  me." 

268 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

"  Well  then,  I'm  splendid." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  need  you  to  tell  me  that." 

"  I  mean  I'm  capable  of  life." 

"  I've  never  doubted  it." 

"  I  mean,"  she  went  on,  "  that  I  want  so  to 
live !" 

"Well?  "  he  asked  while  she  paused  with  the  in 
tensity  of  it. 

"  Well,  that  I  know  I  can." 

"  Whatever  you  do?  "  He  shrank  from  solem 
nity  about  it. 

"  Whatever  I  do.     If  I  want  to." 

"  If  you  want  to  doit?" 

"  If  I  want  to  live.     I  can"  Milly  repeated. 

He  had  clumsily  brought  it  on  himself,  but  he  hes 
itated  with  all  the  pity  of  it.  "Ah  then,  that  I 
believe." 

"  I  will,  I  will,"  she  declared;  yet  with  the  weight 
of  it  somehow  turned  for  him  to  mere  light  and 
sound. 

He  felt  himself  smiling  through  a  mist.  "  You 
simply  must !  " 

It  brought  her  straight  again  to  the  fact.  "  Well 
then,  if  you  say  it,  why  mayn't  we  pay  you  our 
visit?" 

"Will  it  help  you  to  live?" 

"  Every  little  helps,"  she  laughed;  "  and  it's  very 
little  for  me,  in  general,  to  stay  at  home.  Only  I 
shan't  want  to  miss  it !  " 

"  Yes?  " — she  had  dropped  again. 
269 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

"  Well,  on  the  day  you  give  us  a  chance." 

It  was  amazing  what  this  brief  exchange  had  at 
this  point  done  with  him.  His  great  scruple  sud 
denly  broke,  giving  way  to  something  inordinately 
strange,  something  of  a  nature  clear  to  him  only 
when  he  had  left  her.  '  You  can  come/'  he  said, 
"  when  you  like." 

What  had  taken  place  for  him,  however — the 
drop,  almost  with  violence,  of  everything  but  a  sense 
of  her  own  reality — apparently  showed  in  his  face  or 
his  manner,  and  even  so  vividly  that  she  could  take 
it  for  something  else.  "  I  see  how  you  feel — that 
I'm  an  awful  bore  about  it  and  that,  sooner  than  have 
any  such  upset,  you'll  go.  So  it's  no  matter." 

"  No  matter?     Oh !  " — he  quite  protested  now. 

"  If  it  drives  you  away  to  escape  us.  We  want 
you  not  to  go." 

It  was  beautiful  how  she  spoke  for  Mrs.  String- 
ham.  Whatever  it  was,  at  any  rate,  he  shook  his 
head.  "  I  won't  go." 

"  Then  7  won't  go !  "  she  brightly  declared. 

"  You  mean  you  won't  come  to  me?  " 

"  No — never  now.  It's  over.  But  it's  all  right. 
I  mean,  apart  from  that,"  she  went  on,  "  that 
I  won't  do  anything  that  I  oughtn't,  or  that  I'm  not 
forced  to." 

"  Oh,  who  can  ever  force  you?  "  he  asked  with  his 
hand-to-mouth  way,  at  all  times,  of  speaking  for  her 
encouragement.  "  You're  the  least  coercible  of 
creatures." 

270 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

"  Because,  you  think,  I'm  so  free?  " 

"  The  freest  person  probably  now  in  the  world. 
You've  got  everything." 

"  Well,  "  she  smiled,  "  call  it  so.  I  don't  com 
plain." 

On  which  again,  in  spite  of  himself,  it  let  him  in. 
"  No,  I  know  you  don't  complain." 

As  soon  as  he  had  said  it  he  had  himself  heard  the 
pity  in  it.  His  telling  her  she  had  "  everything  " 
was  extravagant  kind  humour,  whereas  his  knowing 
so  tenderly  that  she  didn't  complain  was  terrible 
kind  gravity.  Milly  felt,  he  could  see,  the  differ 
ence;  he  might  as  well  have  praised  her  outright  for 
looking  death  in  the  face.  She  looked  him  again, 
for  the  moment,  and  it  made  nothing  better  for  him 
that  she  took  him  up  more  gently  than  ever.  "  It 
isn't  a  merit — when  one  sees  one's  way." 

"  To  peace  and  plenty?     Well,  I  dare  say  not." 

"  I  mean  to  keeping  what  one  has." 

"  Oh,  that's  success.  If  what  one  has  is  good," 
Densher  said  at  random,  "  it's  enough  to  try 
for." 

"  Well,  it's  my  limit.  I'm  not  trying  for  more." 
To  which  then  she  added  with  a  change :  "  And 
now  about  your  book." 

"  My  book ?  "     He  had  got,  in  a  moment,  far 

from  it. 

"  The  one  you're  now  to  understand  that  noth 
ing  will  induce  either  Susie  or  me  to  run  the  risk  of 
spoiling." 

271 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

He  hesitated,  but  he  made  up  his  mind.  "  I'm 
not  doing  a  book." 

"Not  what  you  said?"  she  asked  in  a  won 
der.  "  You're  not  writing?  " 

He  already  felt  relieved.  "  I  don't  know,  upon 
my  honour,  what  I'm  doing." 

It  made  her  visibly  grave;  so  that,  disconcerted  in 
another  way,  he  was  afraid  of  what  she  would  see  in 
it.  She  saw  in  fact  exactly  what  he  feared,  but 
again  his  honour,  as  he  called  it,  was  saved  even 
while  she  didn't  know  she  had  threatened  it.  Tak 
ing  his  words  for  a  betrayal  of  the  sense  that  he,  on 
his  side,  might  complain,  what  she  clearly  wanted 
was  to  urge  on  him  some  such  patience  as  he  should 
be  perhaps  able  to  arrive  at  with  her  indirect  help. 
Still  more  clearly,  however,  she  wanted  to  be  sure 
of  how  far  she  might  venture;  and  he  could  see  her 
make  out  in  a  moment  that  she  had  a  sort  of  test. 
"  Then  if  it's  not  for  your  book ?  " 

"  What  am  I  staying  for?  " 

"  I  mean  with  your  London  work — with  all  you 
have  to  do.  Isn't  it  rather  empty  for  you?  " 

"  Empty  for  me?  "  He  remembered  how  Kate 
had  said  that  she  might  propose  marriage,  and  he 
wondered  if  this  were  the  way  she  would  naturally 
begin  it.  It  would  leave  him,  such  an  incident,  he 
already  felt,  at  a  loss,  and  the  note  of  his  finest  anx 
iety  might  have  been  in  the  vagueness  of  his  reply. 
-Oh,  well !" 

"  I  ask  too  many  questions?  "  She  settled  it  for 
272 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

herself  before  he  could  protest.  "  You  stay  because 
you've  got  to.  " 

He  grasped  at  it.  "  I  stay  because  I've  got  to." 
And  he  couldn't  have  said  when  he  had  uttered  it  if  it 
were  loyal  to  Kate  or  disloyal.  It  gave  her,  in  a 
manner,  away;  it  showed  the  tip  of  the  ear  of  her 
plan.  Yet  Milly  took  it,  he  perceived,  but  as  a  plain 
statement  of  his  truth.  He  was  waiting  for  what 
Kate  would  have  told  her  of — the  permission,  from 
Lancaster  Gate,  to  come  any  nearer.  To  remain 
friends  with  either  niece  or  aunt  he  mustn't  stir  with 
out  it.  All  this  Densher  read  in  the  girl's  sense  of  the 
spirit  of  his  reply;  so  that  it  made  him  feel  he  was  ly 
ing,  and  he  had  to  think  of  something  to  correct  it. 
What  he  thought  of  was,  in  an  instant,  "  Isn't  it 
enough,  whatever  may  be  one's  other  complications, 
to  stay,  after  all,  for  you?  " 

"  Oh,  you  must  judge." 

He  was  on  his  feet,  by  this  time,  to  take  leave, 
and  also  because  he  was  at  last  too  restless.  The 
speech  in  question,  at  least,  wasn't  disloyal  to  Kate; 
that  was  the  very  tone  of  their  bargain.  So  was  it, 
by  being  loyal,  another  kind  of  lie,  the  lie  of  the  un- 
candid  profession  of  a  motive.  He  was  staying  so 
little  "  for  "  Milly  that  he  was  staying  positively 
against  her.  He  didn't,  none  the  less,  know,  and  at 
last,  thank  goodness,  he  didn't  care.  The  only 
thing  he  could  say  might  make  it  either  better  or 
worse.  "  Well  then,  so  long  as  I  don't  go,  you 

must  think  of  me  all  as  judging !  " 
VOL.  II.— 18 


XXX 

HE  didn't  go  home,  on  leaving  her — he  didn't  want 
to;  he  walked,  instead,  through  his  narrow  ways  and 
his  campi  with  gothic  arches,  to  a  small  and  compar 
atively  sequestered  cafe  where  he  had  already  more 
than  once  found  refreshment  and  comparative  re 
pose,  together  with  solutions  that  consisted,  mainly 
and  pleasantly,  of  further  indecisions.  It  was  a  lit 
eral  fact  that  those  awaiting  him  there  to-night, 
while  he  leaned  back  on  his  velvet  bench  with  his 
head  against  a  florid  mirror  and  his  eyes  not  looking 
further  than  the  fumes  of  his  tobacco,  might  have 
been  regarded  by  him  as  a  little  less  limp  than  usual. 
This  was  not  because,  before  he  had  got  to  his  feet 
again,  there  was  a  step  he  had  seen  his  way  to;  it  was 
simply  because  the  acceptance  of  his  position  took 
sharper  effect  from  his  sense  of  what  he  had  just  had 
to  deal  with.  When  he  had  turned  about,  to  Milly, 
at  the  palace,  half-an-hour  before,  on  the  question  of 
the  impossibility  he  had  so  strongly  felt,  turned 
about  on  the  spot  and  under  her  eyes,  he  had  acted, 
of  a  sudden,  as  a  consequence  of  seeing  much  fur 
ther,  seeing  how  little,  how  not  at  all,  impossibilities 
mattered.  It  wasn't  a  case  for  pedantry;  when  peo 
ple  were  at  her  pass  everything  was  allowed.  And 

274 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

her  pass  was  now,  as  by  the  sharp  click  of  a  spring, 
just  completely  his  own — to  the  extent,  as  he  felt, 
of  her  deep  dependence  on  him.  Anything  he 
should  do,  or  he  shouldn't,  would  have  reference, 
directly,  to  her  life,  which  was  thus  absolutely  in  his 
hands — and  ought  never  to  have  reference  to  any 
thing  else.  It  was  on  the  cards  for  him  that  he 
might  kill  her — that  was  the  way  he  read  the  cards 
as  he  sat  in  his  customary  corner.  The  fear  in  this 
thought  made  him  let  everything  go,  kept  him  there, 
actually,  motionless,  for  three  hours  on  end.  He 
renewed  his  consumption  and  smoked  more  cigar 
ettes  than  he  had  ever  done  in  the  time.  What  had 
come  out  for  him  had  come  out,  with  this  first  inten 
sity,  as  a  terror;  so  that  action  itself,  of  any  sort, 
the  right  as  well  as  the  wrong — if  the  difference  even 
survived — had  heard  in  it  a  vivid  "  Hush !  "  the  in 
junction,  from  that  moment,  to  keep  intensely  still. 
He  thought,  in  fact,  while  his  vigil  lasted,  of  the 
different  ways  of  doing  so,  and  the  hour  might  have 
served  him  as  a  lesson  in  going  on  tip-toe. 

What  he  finally  took  home,  when  he  ventured  to 
leave  the  place,  was  the  perceived  truth  that  he  might 
on  any  other  system  go  straight  to  destruction. 
Destruction  was  represented  for  him  by  the  idea  of 
his  really  bringing  to  a  point,  on  Milly's  side,  any 
thing  whatever.  Nothing  so  "  brought,"  he  easily 
argued,  but  must  be  in  one  way  or  another  a  catas 
trophe.  He  was  mixed  up  in  her  fate,  or  her  fate, 
if  that  were  better,  was  mixed  up  in  him,  so  that  a  sin- 

275 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

gle  false  motion  might,  either  way,  snap  the  coil. 
They  helped  him,  it  was  true,  these  considerations, 
to  a  degree  of  eventual  peace,  for  what  they  lumi 
nously  amounted  to  was  that  he  was  to  do  nothing, 
and  that  fell  in,  after  all,  with  the  burden  laid  on  him 
by  Kate.  He  was  only  not  to  budge  without  the 
girl's  leave — not,  oddly  enough,  at  the  last,  to  move 
without  it,  whether  further  or  nearer,  any  more  than 
without  Kate's.  It  was  to  this  his  wisdom  reduced 
itself — to  the  need  again  simply  to  be  kind.  That  was 
the  same  as  being  still — as  creating,  studiously,  the 
minimum  of  vibration.  He  felt  himself,  as  he  smoked, 
shut  up  to  a  room,  on  the  wall  of  which  something 
precious  was  too  precariously  hung.  A  false  step 
would  bring  it  down,  and  it  must  hang  as  long1  as 
possible.  He  was  aware  when  he  walked  away 
again  that  even  Fleet  Street,  at  this  juncture, 
wouldn't  successfully  touch  him.  His  manager 
might  wire  that  he  was  wanted,  but  he  could  easily 
be  deaf  to  his  manager.  His  money,  for  the  idle  life, 
might  be  none  to  much;  happily,  however,  Venice 
was  cheap,  and  it  was  moreover  the  queer  fact  that 
Milly  in  a  manner  supported  him.  The  greatest  of 
his  expenses  really  was  to  walk  to  the  palace  to  din 
ner.  He  didn't  want,  in  short,  to  give  that  up,  and 
he  could  probably,  he  felt,  be  still  enough. 

He  tried  it  then  for  three  weeks,  and  with  the 
sense,  after  a  little,  of  not  having  failed.  There  had 
to  be  a  delicate  art  in  it,  for  he  was  not  trying — 
quite  the  contrary — to  be  either  distant  or  dull. 

276 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

That  would  not  have  been  being  "  nice  ";  which,  in 
its  own  form,  was  the  real  law.  That  too  might  just 
have  produced  the  vibration  he  desired  to  avert;  so 
that  he  best  kept  everything  in  place  by  not  hesitat 
ing  or  fearing,  as  it  were,  to  let  himself  go — go  in  the 
direction,  that  is  to  say,  of  staying.  It  depended  on 
where  he  went;  which  was  what  he  meant  by  taking 
care.  When  one  went  on  tip-toe  one  could  turn  off 
for  retreat  without  betraying  the  manoeuvre.  Per 
fect  tact — the  necessity  for  which  he  had  from  the 
first,  as  we  know,  happily  recognised — was  to  keep 
all  intercourse  in  the  key  of  the  absolutely  settled.  It 
was  settled  thus,  for  instance,  that  they  were  indisso 
luble  good  friends,  and  settled  as  well  that  her  being 
the  American  girl  was,  just  in  time,  and  for  the  rela 
tion  which  they  found  themselves  concerned,  a  boon 
inappreciable.  If,  at  least,  as  the  days  went  on,  she 
was  to  fall  short  of  her  prerogative  of  the  great 
national  feminine  and  juvenile  ease,  if  she  didn't, 
diviningly,  responsively,  desire  and  labour  to  record 
herself  as  possessed  of  it,  this  would  not  have  been 
for  want  of  Densher's  keeping  her,  with  his  idea, 
well  up  to  it,  for  want,  in  fine,  of  his  encouragement 
and  reminder.  He  didn't  perhaps  in  so  many  words 
speak  to  her  of  the  quantity  itself  as  of  the  thing  she 
was  least  to  intermit;  but  he  talked  of  it,  freely,  in 
what  he  flattered  himself  was  an  impersonal  way,  and 
this  held  it  there  before  her — since  he  was  careful 
also  to  talk  pleasantly.  It  was  at  once  their  idea, 
when  all  was  said,  and  the  most  marked  of  their  con- 

277 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

veniences.  The  type  was  so  elastic  that  it  could  be 
stretched  to  almost  anything;  and  yet,  not  stretched, 
it  kept  down,  remained  normal,  remained  properly 
within  bounds.  And  he  had  meanwhile,  thank 
goodness,  without  being  too  much  disconcerted,  the 
sense,  for  the  girl's  part  of  the  business,  of  the  queer 
est  conscious  compliance,  of  her  doing  very  much 
what  he  wanted,  even  though  without  her  quite  see 
ing  why.  She  fairly  touched  this  once  in  saying: 
"  Oh  yes,  you  like  us  to  be  as  we  are  because  it's  a 
kind  of  facility  to  you  that  we  don't  quite  measure :  I 
think  one  would  have  to  be  English  to  measure  it !  " 
— and  that  too,  strangely  enough,  without  preju 
dice  to  her  good  nature.  She  might  have  been  con 
ceived  as  doing — that  is  of  being — what  he  liked,  if 
only  to  judge  where  it  would  take  them.  They  really, 
as  it  went  on,  saw  each  other  at  the  game;  she  know 
ing  he  tried  to  keep  her  in  tune  with  his  notion,  and 
he  knowing  she  thus  knew  it.  Add  that  he,  again, 
knew  she  knew,  and  yet  that  nothing  was  spoiled  by 
it,  and  we  get  a  fair  impression  of  their  most  com 
pletely  workable  line.  The  strangest  fact  of  all  for 
us  must  be  that  the  success  he  himself  thus  pro 
moted  was  precisely  what  figured,  to  his  gratitude, 
as  the  something  above  and  beyond  him,  above  and 
beyond  Kate,  that  made  for  daily  decency.  There 
would  scarce  have  been  felicity — certainly  too  little 
of  the  right  lubricant — had  not  the  national  charac 
ter  so  invoked  been,  not  less  inscrutably  than  com 
pletely,  in  Milly's  chords.  It  made  her  unity  and  was 

278 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

the  one  thing  he  could  unlimitedly  take  for  granted 
in  her. 

He  did  so  then,  daily,  for  twenty  days,  without 
deepened  fear  of  the  undue  vibration  that  was  keep 
ing  him  watchful.  He  was  living  at  best,  he  knew, 
in  his  nervousness,  from  day  to  day,  and  from  hand 
to  mouth;  but  he  had  succeeded,  he  believed,  in 
avoiding  a  mistake.  All  women  had  alternatives, 
and  Milly's  would  doubtless  be  shaky  too;  but  the 
national  character  was  firm  in  her,  whether  as  all  of 
her,  practically,  by  this  time,  or  as  but  a  part;  the 
national  character  that,  in  a  woman  who  was  young, 
made  of  the  air  breathed  a  virtual  non-conductor.  It 
was  not  till  a  certain  occasion  when  the  twenty  days 
had  passed  that,  going  to  the  palace  at  tea-time,  he 
was  met  by  the  information  that  the  signorina  pad- 
rona  was  not  "  receiving."  The  announcement 
was  made  him,  in  the  court,  by  one  of  the  gondoliers, 
and  made,  he  thought,  with  such  a  conscious  eye 
as  the  knowledge  of  his  freedoms  of  access,  hitherto 
conspicuously  shown,  could  scarce  fail  to  beget. 
Densher  had  not  been,  at  Palazzo  Leporelli,  among 
the  receivable,  but  had  taken  his  place  once  for  all 
among  the  involved  and  included,  so  that  on  being 
so  flagrantly  braved  he  recognised  after  a  moment 
the  propriety  of  a  further  appeal.  Neither  of  the 
two  ladies,  it  appeared,  received,  and  yet  Pasquale 
was  not  prepared  to  say  that  either  was  not  well. 
He  was  yet  not  prepared  to  say  that  either  was  well, 
and  he  would  have  been  blank,  Densher  mentally 

279 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

observed,  if  the  term  could  ever  apply  to  members 
of  a  race  in  whom  vacancy  was  but  a  nest  of  dark 
nesses — not  a  vain  surface,  but  a  place  of  withdrawal 
in  which  something  obscure,  something  always  omi 
nous,  indistinguishably  lived.  He  felt  afresh  indeed, 
at  this  hour,  the  force  of  the  veto  laid,  in  the  house, 
on  any  mention,  any  cognition,  of  the  liabilities  of  its 
mistress.  Her  health,  or  her  illness,  was  not  con 
fessed  to  there  as  a  reason.  Whether  it  was  inwardly 
known  as  one  was  another  matter;  of  which  he  grew 
fully  aware  on  carrying  his  inquiry  further.  His 
appeal  was  to  his  friend  Eugenio,  whom  he  imme 
diately  sent  for,  with  whom,  for  three  rich  minutes, 
protected  from  the  weather,  he  was  confronted  in 
the  gallery  that  led  from  the  water-steps  to  the  court, 
and  whom  he  always  called,  in  meditation,  his  friend 
because  it  was  unmistakable  that  he  would  have 
put  an  end  to  him  if  he  could.  That  produced  a  rela 
tion  which  required  a  name  of  its  own,  an  intimacy 
of  consciousness,  in  truth,  for  each — an  intimacy  of 
eye,  of  ear,  of  general  sensibility,  of  everything  but 
tongue.  It  had  been,  in  other  words,  for  the  five 
weeks,  far  from  occult  to  our  young  man  that 
Eugenio  took  a  vulgar  view  of  him,  which  was  at  the 
same  time  a  view  he  was  definitely  hindered  from 
preventing.  It  was  all  in  the  air  now  again;  it  was 
as  much  between  them  as  ever  while  Eugenio  waited 
on  him  in  the  court. 

The  weather,  from  early  morning,  had  turned  to 
storm,  the  first  sea-storm  of  the  autumn,  and  Den- 

280 


THE  WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

sher  had  almost  invidiously  brought  him  down  the 
outer  staircase — the  massive  ascent,  the  great  feat 
ure  of  the  court,  to  Milly's  piano  nobile.  This  was 
to  pay  him — it  was  the  one  chance — for  the  vulgar 
view;  the  view  that,  clever  and  not  rich,  the  young 
man  from  London  was — by  the  obvious  way — after 
Miss  Theale's  fortune.  It  was  to  pay  him  for  the 
further  implication  that  he  must  take  the  young 
lady's  most  devoted  servant  (interested  scarcely  less 
in  the  high  attraction)  for  a  strangely  superficial  per 
son  if  he  counted,  in  such  a  connection,  on  impunity 
and  prosperity.  The  view  was  a  vulgar  one  for 
Densher  because  it  was  but  the  view  that  might  have 
been  taken  of  another  man,  ,and  three  things  alone, 
accordingly,  had  kept  him  from  righting  himself. 
One  of  these  was  that  his  critic  sought  expression 
only  in  an  impersonality,  a  positive  inhumanity,  of 
politeness;  the  second  was  that  refinements  of  ex 
pression  in  a  friend's  servant  were  not  a  thing  a  vis 
itor  could  take  action  on;  and  the  third  was  the  fact 
that  the  particular  attribution  of  motive  did  him, 
after  all,  no  wrong.  It  was  his  own  fault  if  the  vul 
gar  view  and  the  view  that  might  have  been  taken 
of  another  man  happened  so  incorrigibly  to  fit  him. 
He  apparently  wasn't  so  different  from  another  man 
as  that  came  to.  If  therefore,  in  fine,  Eugenic  figured 
to  him  as  "  my  friend  "  because  he  was  conscious  of 
his  seeing  so  much  in  him,  what  he  made  him  see,  on 
the  same  lines,  in  the  course  of  their  present  inter 
view  was  ever  so  much  more.  Densher  felt  that  he 

281 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

marked  himself,  no  doubt,  as  insisting,  by  dissatis 
faction  with  the  gondolier's  answer,  on  the  pursuit 
imputed  to  him;  and  yet  felt  it  only  in  the  augment 
ed,  the  exalted  distance  that  was  by  this  time 
established  between  them.  Eugenio  had  of  course 
reflected  that  a  word  to  Miss  Theale,  from  such 
a  pair  of  lips,  would  cost  him  his  place;  but 
he  could  also  bethink  himself  that,  so  long  as  the 
word  never  came — and  it  was,  on  the  basis  he  had 
arranged,  impossible — he  enjoyed  the  imagination 
of  mounting  guard.  He  had  never  so  mounted 
guard,  Densher  could  see,  as  during  these  minutes 
in  the  damp  loggia,  where  the  storm-gusts  were 
strong;  and  there  came  in  fact  for  our  young  man, 
as  a  result  of  his  presence,  a  sudden  sharp  sense  that 
everything  had  turned  to  the  dismal.  Something 
had  happened — he  didn't  know  what;  and  it  wasn't 
Eugenio  who  would  tell  him.  What  Eugenio  told 
him  was  that  he  thought  the  ladies — as  if  their  liabil 
ity  had  been  equal — were  a  "  leetle  "  fatigued,  just 
a  "  leetle  leetle,"  and  without  any  cause  named  for  it. 
It  was  one  of  the  signs  of  what  Densher  felt  in  him 
that,  by  a  refinement  of  resource,  he  always  met  the 
latter's  Italian  with  English  and  his  English  with 
Italian.  He  now,  as  usual,  slightly  smiled  at  him  in 
the  process — but  ever  so  slightly,  this  time,  his  man 
ner  also  being  attuned,  our  young  man  made  out,  to 
the  thing,  whatever  it  was,  that  constituted  the  rupt 
ure  of  peace. 

This  manner,  while  they  stood  for  a  long  minute 
282 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

facing  each  other  over  all  they  didn't  say,  played  a 
part  as  well  in  the  sudden  jar  to  Densher's  protected 
state.  It  was  a  Venice  all  of  evil  that  had  broken 
out  for  them  alike,  so  that  they  were  together  in 
their  anxiety,  if  they  really  could  have  met  on  it;  a 
Venice  of  cold,  lashing  rain  from  a  low  black  sky,  of 
wicked  wind  raging  through  narrow  passes,  of  gen 
eral  arrest  and  interruption,  with  the  people  engaged 
in  all  the  water-life  huddled,  stranded  and  wageless, 
bored  and  cynical,  under  archways  and  bridges.  Our 
young  man's  mute  exchange  with  his  friend  con 
tained  meanwhile  such  a  depth  of  reference  that,  had 
the  pressure  been  but  slightly  prolonged,  they  might 
have  reached  a  point  at  which  they  were  equally 
weak.  Each  had  verily  something  in  mind  that 
would  have  made  a  hash  of  mutual  suspicion  and  in 
the  presence  of  which,  as  a  possibility,  they  were 
more  united  than  disjoined.  But  it  was  to  have 
been  a  moment,  for  Densher,  that  nothing  could 
ease  off — not  even  the  formal  propriety  with  which 
his  interlocutor  finally  attended  him  to  the  portone 
and  bowed  upon  his  retreat.  Nothing  had  passed 
about  his  coming  back,  and  the  air  had  made  itself 
felt  as  a  non-conductor  of  messages.  Densher  knew 
of  course,  as  he  took  his  way  again,  that  Eugenie's 
invitation  to  return  was  not  what  he  missed;  yet  he 
knew  at  the  same  time  that  what  had  happened  to 
him  was  part  of  his  punishment.  Out  in  the  square 
beyond  the  fondamenta  that  gave  access  to  the  land- 
gate  of  the  palace,  out  where  the  wind  was  higher, 

283 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

he  fairly,  with  the  thought  of  it,  pulled  his  umbrella 
closer  down.  It  couldn't  be,  his  consciousness,  un 
seen  enough  by  others — the  base  predicament  of 
having,  by  a  concatenation,  just  to  take  such  things : 
such  things  as  the  fact  that  one  very  acute  person 
in  the  world,  whom  he  couldn't  dispose  of  as  an  in 
terested  scoundrel,  enjoyed  an  opinion  of  him  that 
there  was  no  attacking,  no  disproving,  no — what 
was  worst  of  all — even  noticing.  One  had  come  to 
a  queer  pass  when  a  servant's  opinion  mattered. 
Eugenie's  would  have  mattered  even  if,  as  founded 
on  a  low  vision  of  appearances,  it  had  been  quite 
wrong.  It  was  the  more  disagreeable,  accordingly, 
that  the  vision  of  appearances  was  quite  right,  and 
yet  was  scarcely  less  low. 

Such  as  it  was,  at  any  rate,  Densher  shook  it  off 
with  the  more  impatience  that  he  was  independently 
restless.  He  had  to  walk  in  spite  of  weather,  and 
he  took  his  course,  through  crooked  ways,  to  the 
Piazza,  where  he  should  have  the  shelter  of  the  gal 
leries.  Here,  in  the  high  arcade,  half  Venice  was 
crowded  close,  while,  on  the  Molo,  at  the  limit  of 
the  expanse,  the  old  columns  of  St.  Mark  and  of  the 
Lion  were  like  the  lintels  of  a  door  wide  open  to  the 
storm.  It  was  odd  for  him,  as  he  moved,  that  it 
should  have  made  such  a  difference — if  the  differ 
ence  wasn't  only  that  the  palace  had  for  the  first  time 
failed  of  a  welcome.  There  was  more,  but  it  came 
from  that;  that  gave  the  harsh  note  and  broke  the 
spell.  The  wet  and  the  cold  were  now  to  reckon 

284 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

with,  and  it  was  precisely,  to  Densher,  as  if  he  had 
seen  the  obliteration,  at  a  stroke,  of  the  margin  on  a 
faith  in  which  they  were  all  living.  The  margin 
had  been  his  name  for  it — for  the  thing  that,  though 
it  had  held  out,  could  bear  no  shock.  The  shock,  in 
some  form,  had  come,  and  he  wondered  about  it 
while,  threading  his  way  among  loungers  as  vague 
as  himself,  he  dropped  his  eyes  sightlessly  on  the 
rubbish  in  shops.  There  were  stretches  of  the  gal 
lery  paved  with  squares  of  red  marble,  greasy  now 
with  the  salt  spray;  and  the  whole  place,  in  its  huge 
elegance,  the  grace  of  its  conception  and  the  beauty 
of  its  detail,  was  more  than  ever  like  a  great  draw 
ing-room,  the  drawing-room  of  Europe,  profaned 
and  bewildered  by  some  reverse  of  fortune.  He 
brushed  shoulders  with  brown  men  whose  hats 
askew,  and  the  loose  sleeves  of  whose  pendent  jack 
ets,  made  them  resemble  melancholy  maskers.  The 
tables  and  chairs  that  overflowed  from  the  cafes  were 
gathered,  still  with  a  pretence  of  service,  into 
the  arcade,  and  here  and  there  a  spectacled  German, 
with  his  coat-collar  up,  partook  publicly  of  food  and 
philosophy.  These  were  impressions  for  Densher 
too,  but  he  had  made  the  whole  circuit  thrice  before 
he  stopped  short,  in  front  of  Florian's,  with  the  force 
of  his  sharpest.  His  eye  had  caught  a  face  within 
the  cafe — he  had  spotted  an  acquaintance  behind  the 
glass.  The  person  he  had  thus  paused  long  enough 
to  look  at  twice  was  seated,  well  within  range,  at  a 
small  table  on  which  a  tumbler,  half  emptied  and  evi- 

285 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

dently  neglected,  still  remained;  and  though  he  had 
on  his  knee,  as  he  leaned  back,  a  copy  of  a  French 
newspaper — the  heading  of  the  Figaro  was  visible — 
he  stared  straight  before  him  at  the  little  opposite 
rococo  wall.  Densher  had  him  for  a  minute  in  pro 
file,  had  him  for  a  time  during  which  his  identity  pro 
duced,  however  quickly,  all  the  effect  of  establishing 
connections — connections  startling  and  direct;  and 
then,  as  if  it  were  the  one  thing  more  needed,  took  in 
the  look,  determined  by  a  turn  of  the  head,  that 
might  have  been  a  prompt  result  of  the  sense  of  be 
ing  noticed.  This  wider  view  showed  him  all  Lord 
Mark — Lord  Mark  as  encountered,  several  weeks 
before,  the  day  of  the  first  visit  of  each  to  Palazzo 
Leporelli.  For  it  had  been  all  Lord  Mark  that  was 
going  out,  on  that  occasion,  as  he  came  in — he  had 
felt  it,  in  the  hall,  at  the  time;  and  he  was  accordingly 
the  less  at  a  loss  to  recognise  in  a  few  seconds,  as 
renewed  meeting  brought  it  to  the  surface,  the  same 
potential  quantity. 

It  was  a  matter,  the  whole  passage — it  could  only 
be — but  of  a  few  seconds;  for  as  he  could  neither 
stand  there  to  stare  nor  on  the  other  hand  make  any 
advance  from  it,  he  had  presently  resumed  his  walk 
— and  this  time  to  another  pace.  It  had  been,  for 
all  the  world,  during  his  pause,  as  if  he  had  caught 
his  answer  to  the -riddle  of  the  day.  Lord  Mark  had 
simply  faced  him — as  he  had  faced  him,  not  placed 
by  him,  not  at  first — as  one  of  the  damp,  shuffling 
crowd.  Recognition,  though  hanging  fire,  had 

286 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

then  clearly  come;  yet  no  light  of  salutation  had 
been  struck  from  these  certainties.  Acquaintance 
between  them  was  scant  enough  for  neither  to  take 
it  up.  That  neither  had  done  so  was  not,  however, 
what  now  mattered,  but  that  the  gentleman  at  Flor- 
ian's  was  in  the  place  at  all.  He  couldn't  have  been 
in  it  long;  Densher,  as  inevitably  a  haunter  of  the 
great  meeting-ground,  would  in  that  case  have  seen 
him  before.  He  paid  short  visits;  he  was  on  the 
wing;  the  question  for  him  even  as  he  sat  there  was 
of  his  train  or  of  his  boat.  He  had  come  back  for 
something — as  a  sequel  to  his  earlier  visit;  and  what 
ever  he  had  come  back  for  it  had  had  time  to  be 
done.  He  might  have  arrived  but  last  night  or  that 
morning;  he  had  already  made  the  difference.  It 
was  a  great  thing  for  Densher  to  get  this  answer.  He 
held  it  close,  he  hugged  it,  quite  leaned  on  it  as  he 
continued  to  circulate.  It  kept  him  going  and  go 
ing—it  made  him  no  less  restless.  But  it  explained 
— and  that  was  much,  for  with  explanations  he 
might  somehow  deal.  The  vice  in  the  air,  other 
wise,  was  too  much  like  the  breath  of  fate.  The 
weather  had  changed,  the  rain  was  ugly,  the  wind 
wicked,  the  sea  impossible,  because  of  Lord  Mark. 
It  was  because  of  him,  a  fortiori,  that  the  palace  was 
closed.  Densher  went  round  again  twice,  and 
found  the  visitor  each  time  as  he  had  found  him 
first.  Once,  that  is,  he  was  staring  before  him;  the 
next  time  he  was  looking  over  his  Figaro,  which  he 
had  opened  out.  Densher  didn't  again  stop,  but  he 

287 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

left  him  apparently  unconscious  of  his  passage — on 
another  repetition  of  which  Lord  Mark  had  disap 
peared.  He  had  spent  but  the  day;  he  would  be  off 
that  night;  he  had  now  gone  to  his  hotel  for 
arrangements.  These  things  were  as  plain  to  Den- 
sher  as  if  he  had  had  them  in  words.  The  obscure 
had  cleared  for  him — if  cleared  it  was;  there  was 
something  he  didn't  see,  the  great  thing;  but  he 
saw  so  round  it  and  so  close  to  it  that  this  was  almost 
as  good.  He  had  been  looking  at  a  man  who  had 
done  what  he  had  come  for,  and  for  whom,  as  done, 
it  temporarily  sufficed.  The  man  had  come  again 
to  see  Milly,  and  Milly  had  received  him.  His  visit 
would  have  taken  place  just  before  or  just  after 
luncheon,  and  it  was  the  reason  why  he  himself  had 
found  her  door  shut. 

He  said  to  himself  that  evening,  he  still  said 
even  on  the  morrow,  that  he  only  wanted  a  reason, 
and  that  with  this  perception  of  one  he  could  now 
mind,  as  he  called  it,  his  business.  His  business,  he 
had  settled,  as  we  know,  was  to  keep  thoroughly 
still;  and  he  asked  himself  why  it  should  prevent  this 
that  he  could  feel,  in  connection  with  the  crisis,  so 
remarkably  blameless.  He  gave  the  appearances 
before  him  all  the  benefit  of  being  critical,  so  that  if 
blame  were  to  accrue  he  shouldn't  feel  he  had 
dodged  it.  But  it  wasn't  a  bit  he  who,  that  day,  had 
touched  her,  and  if  she  was  upset  it  wasn't  a  bit  his 
act.  The  ability  so  to  think  about  it  amounted  for 
Densher,  during  several  hours,  to  a  kind  of  exhilara- 

288 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE   DOVE 

tion.  The  exhilaration  was  heightened  fairly,  be 
sides,  by  the  visible  conditions — sharp,  striking,  ugly 
to  him — of  Lord  Mark's  return.  His  constant  view 
of  it,  for  all  the  next  hours,  of  which  there  were 
many,  was  as  a  demonstration  on  the  face  of  it  sinis 
ter  even  to  his  own  actual  ignorance.  He  didn't 
need,  for  seeing  it  as  evil,  seeing  it  as,  to  a  certainty, 
in  a  high  degree  "  nasty,"  to  know  more  about  it 
than  he  had  so  easily  and  so  wonderfully  picked  up. 
You  couldn't  drop  on  the  poor  girl  that  way  with 
out,  by  the  fact,  being  brutal.  Such  a  visit  was  a 
descent,  an  invasion,  an  aggression,  constituting 
precisely  one  or  other  of  the  stupid  shocks  that  he 
himself  had  so  decently  sought  to  spare  her.  Den- 
sher  had  indeed  drifted,  by  the  next  morning,  to  the 
reflection — which,  positively,  with  the  occasion,  he 
might  have  brought  straight  out — that  the  only  deli 
cate  and  honourable  way  of  treating  a  person  in 
such  a  state  was  to  treat  her  as  he,  Merton  Densher, 
did.  With  time,  actually — for  the  impression  but 
deepened — this  sense  of  the  contrast,  to  the  advan 
tage  of  Merton  Densher,  became  a  sense  of  relief, 
and  that,  in  turn,  a  sense  of  escape.  It  was  for  all 
the  world — and  he  drew  a  long  breath  on  it — as  if  a 
special  danger  for  him  had  passed.  Lord  Mark  had, 
without  in  the  least  intending  such  a  service,  got  it 
straight  out  of  the  way.  It  was  he,  the  brute,  who 
had  stumbled  into  just  the  wrong  inspiration,  and 
who  had  therefore  produced,  for  the  very  person  he 
had  wished  to  hurt,  an  impunity  that  was  compara- 
II— 19  289 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

tive  innocence,  that  was  almost  like  purification. 
The  person  he  had  wished  to  hurt  could  only  be  the 
person  so  unaccountably  hanging  about.  To  keep 
still,  meanwhile,  was,  for  this  person,  more  compre 
hensively,  to  keep  it  all  up;  and  to  keep  it  all  up  was, 
if  that  seemed  on  consideration  best,  not,  for  the  day 
or  two,  to  go  back  to  the  palace. 

The  day  or  two  passed — stretched  to  three  days; 
and  with  the  effect  extraordinarily,  that  Densher  felt 
himself,  in  the  course  of  them,  washed  but  the  more 
clean.  Some  sign  would  come  if  his  presence  there 
were  better;  and  he  was  at  all  events,  in  absence, 
without  the  particular  scruple.  It  wouldn't  have 
been  meant  for  him  by  either  of  the  women  that  he 
was  to  return  but  to  face  Eugenio.  That  was  impos 
sible — the  being  again  denied;  for  it  made  him,  prac 
tically,  answerable,  and  answerable  was  what  he  was 
not.  There  was  no  neglect,  either,  in  absence,  inas 
much  as,  from  the  moment  he  didn't  get  in,  the  one 
message  he  could  send  up  would  be  some  hope  on 
the  score  of  health.  Since,  accordingly,  that  sort  of 
expression  was  definitely  forbidden  him  he  had  only 
to  wait — which  he  was  actually  helped  to  do  by  his 
feeling,  with  the  lapse  of  each  day,  more  and  more 
wound  up  to  it.  The  days  in  themselves  were  any 
thing  but  sweet;  the  wind  and  the  weather  lasted,  the 
fireless  cold  hinted  at  worse;  the  broken  charm  of  the 
world  about  was  broken  into  smaller  pieces.  He 
walked  up  and  down  his  rooms  and  listened  to  the 
wind — listened  also  to  tinkles  of  bells  and  watched 

290 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

for  some  servant  of  the  palace.  He  might  get  a 
note,  but  the  note  never  came;  there  were  hours 
when  he  stayed  at  home  not  to  miss  it.  When  he 
was  not  at  home  he  was  in  circulation  again  as  he  had 
been  at  the  hour  of  his  seeing  Lord  Mark.  He 
strolled  about  the  Square  with  the  herd  of  refu 
gees;  he  raked  the  approaches  and  the  cafes  on  the 
chance  the  brute,  as  he  now  regularly  imaged  him, 
might  be  still  there.  He  could  only  be  there,  he 
knew,  to  be  received  afresh;  and  that — one  had  but 
to  think  of  it — would  be  indeed  stiff.  He  had  gone, 
however — it  was  proved;  though  Densher's  care  for 
the  question,  either  way,  only  added  to  what  was  of 
least  savour  in  the  taste  of  his  present  ordeal.  It  all 
came  round  to  what  he  was  doing  for  Milly — spend 
ing  days  that  neither  relief  nor  escape  could  purge 
of  a  smack  of  the  abject.  What  was  it  but  abject 
for  a  man  of  his  parts  to  be  reduced  to  such  pastimes? 
What  was  it  but  sordid  for  him,  shuffling  about  in 
the  rain,  to  have  to  peep  into  shops  and  to  consider 
possible  meetings?  What  was  it  but  odious  to  find 
himself  wondering  what,  as  between  him  and  an 
other  man,  a  possible  meeting  would  produce? 
There  recurred  moments  when,  in  spite  of  every 
thing,  he  felt  no  straighter  than  another  man.  And 
yet  even  on  the  third  day,  when  still  nothing  had 
come,  he  more  than  ever  knew  that  he  wouldn't 
have  budged  for  the  world. 

He  thought  of  the  two  women,  in  their  silence,  at 
last — he  at  all  events  thought  of  Milly — as  probably, 

291 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

for  her  reasons,  now  intensely  wishing  him  to  go. 
The  cold  breath  of  her  reasons  was,  with  everything 
else,  in  the  air;  but  he  didn't  care  for  them  any  more 
than  for  her  wish  itself,  and  he  would  stay  in  spite 
of  her,  stay  in  spite  of  odium,  stay  in  spite  perhaps 
of  some  final  experience  that  would  be,  for  the  pain 
of  it,  all  but  unbearable.  That  would  be  his  one 
way,  purified  though  he  was,  to  mark  his  virtue 
beyond  any  mistake.  It  would  be  accepting  the 
disagreeable,  and  the  disagreeable  would  be  a  proof; 
a  proof  of  his  not  having  stayed  for  the  thing — the 
agreeable,  as  it  were — that  Kate  had  named.  The 
thing  Kate  had  named  was  not  to  have  been  the 
odium  of  staying  in  spite  of  hints.  It  was  part  of 
the  odium,  as  actual,  too,  that  Kate  was,  for  her 
comfort,  just  now  well  aloof.  These  were  the  first 
hours,  since  her  flight,  in  which  his  sense  of  what 
she  had  done  for  him  on  the  eve  of  that  event  was  to 
incur  a  qualification.  It  was  strange,  it  was  per 
haps  base,  to  be  thinking  such  things  so  soon;  but 
one  of  the  intimations  of  his  solitude  was  that  she 
had  provided  for  herself.  She  was  out  of  it  all,  by 
her  act,  as  much  as  he  was  in  it;  and  this  difference 
grew,  positively,  as  his  own  intensity  increased.  She 
had  said  in  their  last  sharp  snatch  of  talk — sharp 
though  thickly  muffled,  and  with  every  word  in  it 
final  and  deep,  unlike  even  the  deepest  words  they 
had  ever  yet  spoken:  "Letters?  Never — now. 
Think  of  it.  Impossible."  So  that  as  he  had  suf 
ficiently  caught  her  sense — into  which  he  read,  all 

292 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

the  same,  a  strange  inconsequence — they  had  prac 
tically  wrapped  their  understanding  in  the  breach  of 
their  correspondence.  He  had  moreover,  on  los 
ing  her,  done  justice  to  her  law  of  silence;  for  there 
was  doubtless  a  finer  delicacy  in  his  not  writing  to 
her  than  in  his  writing  as  he  must  have  written  had 
he  spoken  of  themselves.  That  would  have  been  a 
turbid  strain,  and  her  idea  had  been  to  be  noble; 
which,  in  a  degree,  was  a  manner.  Only  it  left  her, 
for  the  pinch,  comparatively  at  ease.  And  it  left 
him,  in  the  conditions,  peculiarly  alone.  He  was 
alone,  that  is,  till,  on  the  afternoon  of  his  third  day, 
in  gathering  dusk  and  renewed  rain,  with  his  shabby 
rooms  looking,  doubtless,  in  their  confirmed  drear 
iness,  for  the  mere  eyes  of  others,  at  their  worst,  the 
grinning  padrona  threw  open  the  door  and  intro 
duced  Mrs.  Stringham.  That  made,  at  a  bound,  a 
difference,  especially  when  he  saw  that  his  visitor 
was  weighted.  It  appeared  a  part  of  her  weight 
that  she  was  in  a  wet  waterproof,  that  she  allowed 
her  umbrella  to  be  taken  from  her  by  the  good 
woman  without  consciousness  or  care,  and  that  her 
face,  under  her  veil,  richly  rosy  with  the  driving 
wind,  was — and  the  veil  too — as  splashed  as  if  the 
rain  were  her  tears. 


293 


XXXI 

THEY  came  to  it  almost  immediately;  he  was  to  won 
der  afterwards  at  the  fewness  of  their  steps.     "  She 
has  turned  her  face  to  the  wall." 
'  You  mean  she's  worse?  " 

The  poor  lady  stood  there  as  she  had  stopped; 
Densher  had,  in  the  instant  flare  of  his  eagerness,  his 
curiosity,  all  responsive  at  sight  of  her,  waved  away, 
on  the  spot,  the  padrona,  who  had  offered  to  relieve 
her  of  her  mackintosh.  She  looked  vaguely  about 
through  her  wet  veil,  intensely  conscious  now  of  the 
step  she  had  taken  and  wishing  it  not  to  have  been  in 
the  dark,  but  clearly,  as  yet,  seeing  nothing.  "  I 
don't  know  how  she  is — and  it's  why  I've  come  to 
you." 

"  I'm  glad  enough  you've  come,"  he  said,  "  and 
it's  quite — you  make  me  feel — as  if  I  had  been 
wretchedly  waiting  for  you." 

She  showed  him  again  her  blurred  eyes — she  had 
caught  at  his  word.  "  Have  you  been  wretched?  " 

Now,  however,  on  his  lips,  the  word  expired.  It 
would  have  sounded  for  him  like  a  complaint,  and 
before  something  he  already  made  out  in  his  visitor 
he  knew  his  own  trouble  as  small.  Hers,  under  her 
damp  draperies,  which  shamed  his  lack  of  a  fire,  was 
great,  and  he  felt  she  had  brought  it  all  with  her. 

294 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

He  answered  that  he  had  been  patient  and  above  all 
that  he  had  been  still.  "  As  still  as  a  mouse — 
you'll  have  seen  it  for  yourself.  Stiller,  for  three 
days  together,  than  I've  ever  been  in  my  life.  It  has 
seemed  to  me  the  only  thing." 

This  qualification  of  it  as  a  policy  or  a  remedy  was 
straightway,  for  his  friend,  plainly,  a  light  that  her 
own  light  could  answer.  "  It  has  been  best. 
I've  wondered  for  you.  But  it  has  been  best,"  she 
said  again. 

"  Yet  it  has  done  no  good?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I've  been  afraid  you  were  gone." 
Then  as  he  gave  a  headshake  which,  though  slow, 
was  deeply  mature :  "  You  won't  go?  " 

"  Is  to  '  go/  "  he  asked,  "  to  be  still?  " 

"  Oh,  I  mean  if  you'll  stay  for  me." 

"  I'll  do  anything  for  you.  Isn't  it  for  you  alone 
now  I  can?  " 

She  thought  of  it,  and  he  could  see  even  more  of 
the  relief  she  was  taking  from  him.  His  presence, 
his  face,  his  voice,  the  old  rooms  themselves,  so  mea 
gre  yet  so  charged,  where  Kate  had  admirably  been 
to  him — these  things  counted  for  her,  now  she  had 
them,  as  the  help  she  had  been  wanting :  so  that  she 
still  only  stood  there  taking  them  all  in.  With  it, 
however,  characteristically,  popped  up  a  throb  of  her 
conscience.  What  she  thus  tasted  was  almost  a  per 
sonal  joy.  It  told  Densher  of  the  three  days  she  on 
her  side  had  spent.  "  Well,  anything  you  do  for  me 

— is  for  her  too.     Only,  only !  " 

295 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

"  Only  nothing  now  matters?  " 

She  looked  at  him  a  minute  as  if  he  were  the 
fact  itself  that  he  expressed.  "  Then  you  know?  " 

"  Is  she  dying?  "  he  asked  for  all  answer. 

Mrs.  Stringham  waited — her  face  seemed  to 
sound  him.  Then  her  own  reply  was  strange. 
"  She  hasn't  so  much  as  named  you.  We  haven't 
spoken." 

"Not  for  three  days?" 

"  No  more,"  she  simply  went  on,  "  than  if  it  were 
all  over.  Not  even  by  the  faintest  allusion." 

"  Oh,"  said  Densher  with  more  light,  "  you  mean 
you  haven't  spoken  about  me." 

"About  what  else?  No  more  than  if  you  were 
dead." 

"  Well,"  he  answered  after  a  moment,  "  I  am 
dead." 

"Then  /  am,"  said  Susan  Shepherd  with  a  drop  of 
her  arms  on  her  waterproof. 

It  was  a  tone  that,  for  the  minute,  imposed  itself 
in  its  dry  despair;  it  represented,  in  the  bleak  place, 
which  had  no  life  of  its  own,  none  but  the  life  Kate 
had  left — the  sense  of  which,  for  that  matter,  by 
mystic  channels,  might  fairly  be  reaching  the  visitor 
— the  very  impotence  of  their  extinction.  And 
Densher  had  nothing  to  oppose  it,  nothing  but 
again :  "  Is  she  dying?  " 

It  made  her,  however,  as  if  these  were  crudities, 
almost  material  pangs,  only  say  as  before :  "  Then 
you  know?  " 

296 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

"  Yes,"  he  at  last  returned,  "  I  know.  But  the 
marvel  to  me  is  that  you  do.  I've  no  right  in  fact  to 
imagine,  or  to  assume,  that  you  do." 

"  You  may,"  said  Susan  Shepherd,  "  all  the  same. 
I  know." 

"  Everything?  " 

Her  eyes,  through  her  veil,  kept  pressing  him. 
"  No — not  everything.  That's  why  I've  come." 

"  That  I  shall  really  tell  you?  "  With  which,  as 
she  hesitated,  and  it  affected  him,  he  brought  out, 
in  a  groan,  a  doubting  "  Oh,  oh !  "  It  turned  him 
from  her  to  the  place  itself,  which  was  a  part  of  what 
was  in  him,  was  the  abode,  the  worn  shrine  more 
than  ever,  of  the  fact  in  possession,  the  fact,  now  an 
association,  for  which  he  had  hired  it.  That  was 
not  for  telling,  but  Susan  Shepherd  was,  none  the 
less,  so  decidedly  wonderful  that  the  sense  of  it 
might  really  have  begun,  by  an  effect  already  operat 
ing,  to  be  a  part  of  her  knowledge.  He  saw,  and  it 
stirred  him,  that  she  hadn't  come  to  judge  him;  had 
come  rather,  so  far  as  she  might  dare,  to  pity.  This 
showed  him  her  own  abasement — that,  at  any  rate, 
of  grief;  and  made  him  feel  with  a  rush  of  friendli 
ness  that  he  liked  to  be  with  her.  The  rush  had 
quickened  when  she  met  his  groan  with  an  attenua 
tion. 

"  We  shall  at  all  events — if  that's  anything — be 
together." 

It  was  his  own  good  impulse  in  herself.  "  It's 
what  I've  ventured  to  feel.  It's  much,"  She  re- 

297 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE   DOVE 

plied  in  effect,  silently,  that  it  was  whatever  he  liked; 
on  which,  so  far  as  he  had  been  afraid  for  anything, 
he  knew  his  fear  had  dropped.  The  comfort  was 
huge,  for  it  gave  back  to  him  something  precious, 
over  which,  in  the  effort  of  recovery,  his  own  hand 
had  too  imperfectly  closed.  Kate,  he  remembered, 
had  said  to  him,  with  her  sole  and  single  boldness — 
and  also  on  grounds  he  hadn't  then  measured — that 
Mrs.  Stringham  was  a  person  who  wouldn't,  at  a 
pinch,  in  a  stretch  of  confidence,  wince.  It  was  but 
another  of  the  cases  in  which  was  Kate  showing. 
"  You  don't  think  then  very  horridly  of  me?  " 

And  her  answer  was  the  more  valuable  that  it 
came  without  nervous  effusion — quite  as  if  she  un 
derstood  what  he  might  conceivably  have  believed. 
She  turned  over  in  fact  what  she  thought,  and  that 
was  what  helped  him.  "  Oh,  you've  been  extraor 
dinary  !  " 

It  made  him  aware  the  next  moment  of  how  they 
had  been  planted  there.  She  took  off  her  cloak 
with  his  aid,  though  when  she  had  also,  accepting  a 
seat,  removed  her  veil,  he  recognised  in  her  personal 
ravage  that  the  words  she  had  just  uttered  to  him 
were  the  one  flowers  she  had  to  throw.  They  were 
all  her  consolation  for  him,  and  the  consolation, 
even,  still  depended  on  the  event.  She  sat  with  him, 
at  any  rate,  in  the  grey  clearance — as  sad  as  a  win 
ter  dawn — made  by  their  meeting.  The  image  she 
again  evoked  for  him  loomed  in  it  but  the  larger. 
"  She  has  turned  her  face  to  the  wall." 

298 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

He  saw,  with  the  last  vividness,  and  it  was  as  if,  in 
their  silences,  they  were  simply  so  leaving  what  he 
saw.  "  She  doesn't  speak  at  all?  I  don't  mean  not 
of  me." 

"  Of  nothing — of  no  one."  And  she  went  on, 
Susan  Shepherd,  giving  it  out  as  she  had  had  to  take 
it.  "  She  doesn't  want  to  die.  Think  of  her  age. 
Think  of  her  goodness.  Think  of  her  beauty. 
Think  of  all  she  is.  Think  of  all  she  has.  She  lies 
there  stiffening  herself  and  clinging  to  it.  So  I 

thank  God !  "  the  poor  lady  wound  up  with  a 

kind  of  wan  inconsequence. 

He  wondered.     "  You  thank  God ?  " 

"  That  she's  so  quiet." 

He  continued  to  wonder.     "  Is  she  so  quiet?  " 

"  She's  more  than  quiet.  She's  grim.  It's  what 
she  has  never  been.  So  you  see — all  these  days.  I 
can't  tell  you — but  it's  better  so.  It  would  kill  me 
if  she  were  to  tell  me." 

"  To  tell  you?  "     He  was  still  at  a  loss. 

"  How  she  feels.  How  she  clings.  How  she 
doesn't  want  it." 

"  How  she  doesn't  want  to  die?  Of  course  she 
doesn't  want  it."  He  had  a  long  pause,  and  they 
might  have  been  thinking  together  of  what  they 
could  even  now  do  to  prevent  it.  This,  however, 
was  not  what  he  brought  out.  Milly's  "  grimness," 
and  the  great  hushed  palace,  were  present  to  him; 
present  with  the  little  woman  before  him  as  she 
must  have  been  waiting  there  and  listening.  "  Only, 
what  harm  have  you  done  her?  " 

299 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE   DOVE 

Mrs.  Stringham  looked  about  in  her  darkness.  "  I 
don't  know.  I  come  and  talk  of  her  here  with  you." 

It  made  him  again  hesitate.  "  Does  she  utterly 
hate  me?  " 

"I  don't  know.  How  can  I?  No  one  ever 
will." 

"She'll  never  tell?" 

"  She'll  never  tell." 

Once  more  he  thought.  "  She  must  be  magnifi 
cent." 

"  She  is  magnificent." 

His  friend,  after  all,  helped  him,  and  he  turned  it, 
so  far  as  he  could,  all  over.  "  Would  she  see  me 
again?" 

It  made  his  companion  stare.  "  Should  you  like 
to  see  her?  " 

'''  You  mean  as  you  describe  her?  "  He  saw  her 
surprise,  and  it  took  him  some  time.  "  No." 

"  Ah  then !  "  Mrs.  Stringham  sighed. 

"  But  if  she  could  bear  it  I'd  do  anything." 

She  had  for  the  moment  her  vision  of  this,  but  it 
collapsed.  "  I  don't  see  what  you  can  do." 

"  I  don't,  either.     But  she  might." 

Mrs.  Stringham  continued  to  think.  "  It's  too 
late." 

"  Too  late  for  her  to  see ?  " 

"  Too  late." 

The  very  decision  of  her  despair — it  was  after  all 
so  lucid — kindled  in  him  a  heat.  "  But  the  doctor, 

all  the  while ? " 

300 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

"  Tacchini?  Oh,  he's  kind.  He  comes.  He's 
proud  of  having  been  approved  and  coached  by  a 
great  London  man.  He  hardly  in  fact  goes  away; 
so  that  I  scarce  know  what  becomes  of  his  other  pa 
tients.  He  thinks  her,  justly  enough,  a  great  per 
sonage;  he  treats  her  like  royalty;  he's  waiting  on 
events.  But  she  has  barely  consented  to  see  him, 
and,  though  she  has  told  him,  generously — for  she 
thinks  of  me,  dear  creature — that  he  may  come,  that 
he  may  stay,  for  my  sake,  he  spends  most  of  his 
time  only  hovering  at  her  door,  prowling  through 
the  rooms,  trying  to  entertain  me,  in  that  ghastly 
saloon,  with  the  gossip  of  Venice,  and  meeting  me, 
in  doorways,  in  the  sala,  on  the  staircase,  with  an 
agreeable,  intolerable  smile.  We  don't,"  said  Susan 
Shepherd,  "  talk  of  her." 

"By  her  request?" 

"  Absolutely.  I  don't  do .  what  she  doesn't 
wish.  We  talk  of  the  price  of  provisions." 

"  By  her  request  too?" 

"  Absolutely.  She  named  it  to  me  as  a  subject 
when  she  said,  the  first  time,  that  if  it  would  be  any 
comfort  to  me  he  might  stay  as  much  as  we  liked." 

Densher  took  it  all  in.  "  But  he  isn't  any  comfort 
to  you !  " 

"  None  whatever.  That,  however,"  she  added, 
"  is  not  his  fault.  Nothing's  any  comfort." 

"  Certainly,"  Densher  observed,  "  as  I  but  too 
horribly  feel,  I'm  not." 

"  No.     But  I  didn't  come  for  that." 
301 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

"  You  came  for  me" 

"  Well,  then,  call  it  that."  But  she  looked  at  him 
a  moment  with  eyes  filled  full,  and  something  came 
up  in  her,  the  next  instant,  from  deeper  still.  "  I 
came  at  bottom  of  course " 

'  You  came  at  bottom  of  course  for  our  friend 
herself.  But  if  it's,  as  you  say,  too  late  for  me  to  do 
anything?  " 

She  continued  to  look  at  him,  and  with  an  impa 
tience,  which  he  saw  growing  in  her,  of  the  truth 
itself.  "  So  I  did  say.  But,  with  you  here  " — and 
she  turned  her  vision  again  strangely  about  her — 
"  with  you  here,  and  with  everything,  I  feel  that  we 
mustn't  abandon  her." 

"  God  forbid  we  should  abandon  her." 

'  Then  you  won't? "  His  tone  had  made  her 
flush  again. 

"  How  do  you  mean  I  '  won't/  if  she  abandons 
me?  What  can  I  do  if  she  won't  see  me?  " 

"  But  you  said  just  now  you  wouldn't  like  it." 

"  I  said  I  shouldn't  like  it  in  the  light  of  what  you 
tell  me.  I  shouldn't  like  it  only  to  see  her  as  you 
make  me.  I  should  like  it  if  I  could  help  her.  But 
even  then,"  Densher  pursued  without  faith,  "  she 
would  have  to  want  it  first  herself.  And  there," 
he  continued  to  make  out,  "  is  the  devil  of  it.  She 
won't  want  it  herself.  She  can't !  " 

He  had  got  up  in  his  impatience  of  it,  and  she 
watched  him  while  he  helplessly  moved.  "There's 
one  thing  you  can  do.  There's  only  that,  and  even 

302 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

for  that  there  are  difficulties.  But  there  is  that." 
He  stood  before  her  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
and  he  had  soon  enough,  from  her  eyes,  seen  what 
was  coming.  She  paused  as  if  waiting  for  his  leave 
to  utter  it,  and,  as  he  only  let  her  wait,  they  heard,  in 
the  silence,  on  the  Canal,  the  renewed  downpour  of 
rain.  She  had  at  last  to  speak,  but,  as  if  still  with 
her  fear,  she  only  half  spoke.  "  I  think  you  really 
know  yourself  what  it  is." 

He  did  know  what  it  was,  and  with  it  even,  as  she 
said — rather! — there  were  difficulties.  He  turned 
away  on  them,  on  everything,  for  a  moment;  he 
moved  to  the  other  window  and  looked  at  the 
sheeted  channel,  wider,  like  a  river,  where  the  houses 
opposite,  blurred  and  belittled,  stood  at  twice  their 
distance.  Mrs.  Stringham  said  nothing,  was  as 
mute,  in  fact,  for  the  minute  as  if  she  had  "  had  " 
him,  and  he  was  the  first  again  to  speak.  When  he 
did  so,  however,  it  was  not  in  straight  answer  to  her 
last  remark — he  only  started  from  that.  He  said, 
as  he  came  back  to  her,  "  Let  me,  you  know,  see — • 
one  must  understand,"  almost  as  if,  for  the  time,  he 
had  accepted  it.  And  what  he  wished  to  under 
stand  was  where,  on  the  essence  of  the  question,  was 
the  voice  of  Sir  Luke  Strett.  If  they  talked  of  not 
giving  her  up  shouldn't  he  be  the  one  least  of  all  to 
do  it?  "  Aren't  we,  at  the  worst,  in  the  dark  with 
out  him?  " 

"  Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Stringham,  "  it's  he  who  has 
kept  me  going.  I  wired  the  first  night,  and  he  an- 

3°3 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

swered  like  an  angel.  He'll  come  like  one.  Only 
he  can't  arrive,  at  the  nearest,  till  Thursday  after 
noon." 

"  Well  then,  that's  something." 

She  hesitated.  "  Something — yes.  She  likes 
him." 

"  Rather !  I  can  see  it  still,  the  face  with  which, 
when  he  was  here  in  October — that  night  when  she 
was  in  white,  when  she  had  people  there  and  those 
musicians — she  committed  him  to  my  care.  It  was 
beautiful  for  both  of  us — she  put  us  in  relation.  She 
asked  me,  for  the  time,  to  take  him  about;  I  did  so, 
and  we  quite  hit  it  off.  That  proved,"  Densher  said 
with  a  quick  sad  smile,  "  that  she  liked  him." 

"  He  liked  you"  Susan  Shepherd  presently  risked. 

"  Ah,  I  know  nothing  about  that." 

'  You  ought  to  then.  He  went  with  you  to  gal 
leries  and  churches;  you  saved  his  time  for  him, 
showed  him  the  choicest  things,  and  you  perhaps 
will  remember  telling  me,  myself,  that  if  he  hadn't 
been  a  great  surgeon  he  might  really  have  been  a 
great  judge.  I  mean  of  the  beautiful." 

"  Well,"  the  young  man  admitted,  "  that's  what 
he  is — in  having  judged  her.  He  hasn't,"  he  went 
on,  "  judged  her  for  nothing.  His  interest  in  her — 
which  we  must  make  the  most  of — can  only  be  su 
premely  beneficent." 

He  still  roamed,  while  he  spoke,  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  and  she  saw  him,  on  this,  as  her  eyes 
sufficiently  betrayed,  trying  to  keep  his  distance 

3°4 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

from  the  recognition  he  had  a  few  moments  before 
partly  confessed  to.  "  I'm  glad/'  she  dropped, 
"  you  like  him !  " 

There  was  something  for  him  in  the  sound  of  it. 
"  Well,  I  do  no  more,  dear  lady,  than  you  do  your 
self.  Surely  you  like  him.  Surely,  when  he  was 
here,  we  all  liked  him." 

'  Yes,  but  I  seem  to  feel  I  know  what  he  thinks. 
And  I  should  think,  with  all  the  time  you  spent  with 
him,  you  would  know  it,"  she  said,  "  yourself." 

Densher  stopped  short,  though  at  first  without  a 
word.  "  We  never  spoke  of  her.  Neither  of  us 
mentioned  her,  even  to  sound  her  name,  and  noth 
ing  whatever,  in  connection  with  her,  passed  be 
tween  us." 

Mrs.  Stringham  stared  up  at  him,  surprised  at  this 
picture.  But  she  had  plainly  an  idea  that,  after  an 
instant,  resisted  it.  "  That  was  his  professional  pro 
priety." 

"  Precisely.  But  it  was  also  my  sense  of  that,  and 
it  was  something  more  besides."  And  he  spoke 
with  sudden  intensity.  "  I  couldn't  talk  to  him 
about  her !  " 

"  Oh !  "  said  Susan  Shepherd. 

"  I  can't  talk  to  any  one  about  her." 

"  Except  to  me,"  his  friend  continued. 

"  Except  to  you."  The  ghost  of  her  smile,  a 
gleam  of  significance,  had  waited  on  her  words,  and 
it  kept  him,  for  honesty,  looking  at  her.  For  hon 
esty  too — that  is  for  his  own  words — he  had  quickly 

VOL.  ii.— 20  305 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

coloured :  he  was  sinking  so,  at  a  stroke,  the  burden 
of  his  discourse  with  Kate.  His  visitor,  for  the  min 
ute,  while  their  eyes  met,  might  have  been  watching 
him  hold  it  down.  And  he  had  to  hold  it  down — 
the  effort  of  which,  precisely,  made  him  red.  He 
couldn't  let  it  come  up;  at  least  not  yet.  She  might 
make  what  she  would  of  it.  He  attemped  to  repeat 
his  statement,  but  he  really  modified  it.  "  Sir  Luke, 
at  all  events,  had  nothing  to  tell  me,  and  I  had  noth 
ing  to  tell  him.  Make-believe  talk  was  impossible 
for  us,  and " 

"  And  real  " — she  had  taken  him  right  up  with  a 
huge  emphasis — "  was  more  impossible  still."  No 
doubt — he  didn't  deny  it;  and  she  had  straightway 
drawn  her  conclusion.  "  Then  that  proves  what  I 
say — that  there  were  immensities  between  you. 
Otherwise  you'd  have  chattered." 

"  I  dare  say,"  Densher  granted,  "  we  were  both 
thinking  of  her." 

"  You  were  neither  of  you  thinking  of  any  one 
else.  That's  why  you  kept  together." 

Well,  that  too,  if  she  desired,  he  admitted;  but  he 
came  straight  back  to  what  he  had  originally  said. 
"  I  haven't  a  notion,  all  the  same,  of  what  he  thinks." 
She  faced  him,  visibly,  with  the  question  into  which 
he  had  already  observed  that  her  special  shade  of  ear 
nestness  was  perpetually,  right  and  left,  flowering — 
"  Are  you  very  sure?  " — and  he  could  only  note  her 
apparent  difference  from  himself.  "  You,  I  judge, 
believe  that  he  thinks  she's  gone." 

306 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

She  took  it,  but  she  bore  up.  "  It  doesn't  matter 
what  I  believe. " 

"  Well,  we  shall  see  " — and  he  felt  almost  basely 
superficial.  More  and  more,  for  the  last  five  min 
utes,  had  he  known  she  had  brought  something 
with  her,  and  never,  in  respect  to  anything,  had  he 
had  such  a  \vish  to  postpone.  He  would  have  liked 
to  put  everything  off  till  Thursday;  he  was  sorry  it 
was  now  Tuesday;  he  wondered  if  he  were  afraid. 
Yet  it  wasn't  of  Sir  Luke,  who  was  coming;  nor  of 
Milly,  who  was  dying;  nor  of  Mrs.  Stringham,  who 
was  sitting  there.  It  wasn't,  strange  to  say,  of  Kate 
either,  for  Kate's  presence  affected  him  suddenly  as 
having  swooned  or  trembled  away.  Susan  Shep 
herd's,  thus  prolonged,  had  suffused  it  with  some 
influence  under  which  it  had  ceased  to  act.  She  was 
as  absent  to  his  sensibility  as  she  had  constantly 
been,  since  her  departure,  absent,  as  an  echo  or  a 
reference,  from  the  palace;  and  it  was  the  first  time, 
among  the  objects  now  surrounding  him,  that  his 
sensibility  so  noted  her.  He  knew  soon  enough 
that  it  was  of  himself  he  was  afraid,  and  that  even,  if 
he  didn't  take  care,  he  should  infallibly  be  more  so. 
"  Meanwhile,"  he  added  for  his  companion,  "  it  has 
been  everything  for  me  to  see  you." 

She  slowly  rose,  at  the  words,  which  might  almost 
have  conveyed  to  her  the  hint  of  his  taking  care. 
She  stood  there  as  if,  in  fact,  she  had  seen  him 
abruptly  moved  to  dismiss  her.  But  the  abruptness 
would  have  been  in  this  case  so  marked  as  fairly  to 

307 


THE   WINGS    OF   THE   DOVE 

offer  ground  for  insistence  to  her  imagination  of  his 
state.  It  would  take  her  moreover,  she  clearly 
showed  him  she  was  thinking,  but  a  minute  or  two 
to  insist.  Besides,  she  had  already  said  it.  "  Will 
you  do  it  if  he  asks  you?  I  mean  if  Sir  Luke  himself 
puts  it  to  you.  And  will  you  give  him  " — oh,  she 
was  earnest  now ! — "  the  opportunity  to  put  it  to 
you?  " 

'  The  opportunity  to  put  what?  " 

"  That  if  you  deny  it  to  her,  that  may  still  do 
something." 

Densher  felt  himself — as  had  already  once  befallen 
him  in  the  quarter-of-an-hour — turn  red  to  the  top 
of  his  forehead.  Turning  red  had,  however,  for  him, 
as  a  sign  of  shame,  been,  so  to  speak,  discounted;  his 
consciousness  of  it  at  the  present  moment  was  rather 
as  a  sign  of  his  fear.  It  showed  him  sharply  enough 
of  what  he  was  afraid.  "  If  I  deny  what  to  her?  " 

Hesitation,  on  the  demand,  revived  in  her,  for 
hadn't  he  all  along,  been  letting  her  see  that  he 
knew?  "  Why,  what  Lord  Mark  told  her?  " 

"  And  what  did  Lord  Mark  tell  her?  " 

Mrs.  Stringham  had  a  look  of  bewilderment — of 
seeing  him  as  suddenly  perverse.  "  I've  been  judg 
ing  that  you  yourself  know."  And  it  was  she  who 
now  blushed  deep. 

It  quickened  his  pity  for  her,  but  he  was  beset  too 
by  other  things.  "  Then  you  know " 

"Of  his  dreadful  visit?"  She  stared.  "Why, 
it's  what  has  done  it." 

308 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

"  Yes — I  understand  that.  But  you  also 
know ' 

He  had  faltered  again,  but  all  she  knew  she  now 
wanted  to  say.  "  I'm  speaking,"  she  said  sooth 
ingly,  "  of  what  he  told  her.  It's  that  that  I've  taken 
you  as  knowing." 

"  Oh !  "  he  sounded  in  spite  of  himself. 

It  appeared  to  have  for  her,  he  saw  the  next  mo 
ment,  the  quality  of  relief,  as  if  he  had  supposed  her 
thinking  of  something  else.  Thereupon,  straight 
way,  that  lightened  it.  "  Oh,  you  thought  I've 
known  it  for  true!  " 

Her  light  had  heightened  her  flush,  and  he  saw 
that  he  had  betrayed  himself.  Not,  however,  that 
it  mattered,  as  he  immediately  saw  still  better. 
There  it  was  now,  all  of  it,  at  last,  and  this  at  least 
there  was  no  postponing.  They  were  left  there 
with  her  idea — the  one  she  was  wishing  to  make  him 
recognise.  He  had  expressed  ten  minutes  before 
his  need  to  understand,  and  she  was  acting,  after  all, 
but  on  that.  Only  what  he  was  to  understand  was  no 
small  matter;  it  might  be  larger  even  than  as  yet  ap 
peared. 

He  took  again  one  of  his  turns,  not  meet 
ing  what  she  had  last  said;  he  mooned  a  minute,  as 
he  would  have  called  it,  at  a  window;  and  of  course 
she  could  see  that  she  had  driven  him  to  the  wall. 
She  did  clearly,  without  delay,  see  it;  on  which  her 
sense  of  having  "  caught  "  him  became,  as  promptly, 
a  scruple,  and  she  spoke  as  if  not  to  press  it.  "  What 

3°9 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

I  mean  is  that  he  told  her  you've  been  all  the  while 
engaged  to  Miss  Croy." 

He  gave  a  jerk  round;  it  was  almost — to  hear  it — 
the  touch  of  a  lash;  and  he  said — idiotically,  as  he 
afterwards  knew — the  first  thing  that  came  into  his 
head.  "  All  what  while?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  not  I  who  say  it."  She  spoke  in  gentle 
ness.  "  I  only  repeat  to  you  what  he  told  her." 

Densher,  from  whom  an  impatience  had  escaped, 
had  already  caught  himself  up.  "  Pardon  my  bru 
tality.  Of  course  I  know  what  you're  talking  about. 
I  saw  him,  toward  the  evening,"  he  further  ex 
plained,  "  in  the  Piazza;  only  just  saw  him — through 
the  glass  at  Florian's — without  any  words.  In  fact 
I  scarcely  know  him,  and  there  wouldn't  have  been 
occasion.  It  was  but  once,  moreover — he  must 
have  gone  that  night.  But  I  knew  he  wouldn't 
have  come  for  nothing,  and  I  turned  it  over — what 
he  would  have  come  for." 

Oh,  so  had  Mrs.  Stringham.  "  He  came  for  exas 
peration." 

Densher  approved.  "  He  came  to  let  her  know 
that  he  knows  better  than  she  for  whom  it  was  she 
had  a  couple  of  months  before,  in  her  fool's  para 
dise,  refused  him." 

"  How  you  do  know !  " — and  Mrs.  Stringham  al 
most  smiled. 

"  I  know  that — but  I  don't  know  the  good  it  does 
him." 

"  The  good,  he  thinks,  if  he  has  patience — not  too 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

much — may  be  to  come.     He  doesn't  know  what  he 
has  done  to  her.     Only  we,  you  see,  do  that." 

He  saw,  but  he  wondered.  "  She  kept  from  him 
—what  she  felt?" 

"  She  was  able — I'm  sure  of  it — not  to  show  any 
thing.  He  dealt  her  his  blow,  and  she  took  it  with 
out  a  sign."  Mrs.  Stringham,  it  was  plain,  spoke  by 
book,  and  it  brought  into  play  again  her  apprecia 
tion  of  what  she  related.  "  She's  magnificent." 

Densher  again  gravely  assented.  "  Magnifi 
cent  ! " 

"  And  he,"  she  went  on,  "  is  an  idiot  of  idiots." 

"  An  idiot  of  idiots."  For  a  moment,  on  it  all,  on 
the  stupid  doom  in  it,  they  looked  at  each  other. 
"  Yet  he's  thought  so  awfully  clever." 

"  So  awfully — it's  Maud  Lowder's  own  view. 
And  he  was  nice,  in  London,"  said  Mrs.  Stringham, 
"  to  me.  One  could  almost  pity  him — he  has  had 
such  a  good  conscience." 

"  That's  exactly  the  inevitable  ass." 

"  Yes,  but  it  wasn't — I  could  see  from  the  only 
few  things  she  first  told  me — that  he  meant  her  the 
least  harm.  He  intended  none  whatever." 

"  That's  always  the  ass  at  his  worst,"  Densher  re 
plied.  "  He  only  of  course  meant  harm  to  me." 

"  And  good  to  himself — he  thought  that  would 
come.  He  had  been  unable  to  swallow,"  Mrs. 
Stringham  pursued,  "  what  had  happened  on  his 
other  visit.  He  had  been  then  too  sharply  humil 
iated." 

3" 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

"  Oh,  I  saw  that." 

'  Yes,  and  he  also  saw  you.  He  saw  you  received, 
as  it  were,  while  he  was  turned  away." 

"  Perfectly,"  Densher  said—"  I've  filled  it  out. 
And  also  that  he  has  known  meanwhile  for  what  I 
was  then  received.  For  a  stay  of  all  these  weeks. 
He  had  had  it  to  think  of." 

"  Precisely — it  was  more  than  he  could  bear.  But 
he  has  it,"  said  Mrs.  Stringham,  "  to  think  of  still." 
•  "  Only,  after  all,"  asked  Densher,  who  himself, 
somehow,  at  this  point,  was  having  more  to  think  of 
even  than  he  had  yet  had — "  only,  after  all,  how  has 
he  happened  to  know?  That  is,  to  know  enough." 

"  What  do  you  call  enough?  "  Mrs.  Stringham  in 
quired. 

"  He  can  only  have  acted — it  would  have  been  his 
only  safety — from  full  knowledge." 

He  had  gone  on  without  heeding  her  question; 
but,  face  to  face  as  they  were,  something  had  none 
the  less  passed  between  them.  It  was  this  that, 
after  an  instant,  made  her  again  interrogative. 
"  What  do  you  mean  by  full  knowledge?  " 

Densher  met  it  indirectly.  "  Where  has  he  been 
since  October?  " 

"  I  think  he  has  been  back  to  England.  He  came, 
in  fact,  I  have  reason  to  believe,  straight  from  there." 

"  Straight  to  do  this  job?  All  the  way  for  his 
half-hour?  " 

"  Well,  to  try  again — with  the  help  perhaps  of  a 
new  fact.  To  make  himself  right  with  her,  possibly 

3" 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

— a  different  attempt  from  the  other.  He  had  at 
any  rate  something  to  tell  her,  and  he  didn't  know  his 
opportunity  would  reduce  itself  to  half-an-hour.  Or 
perhaps  indeed  half-an-hour  would  be  just  what  was 
most  effective.  It  has  been !  "  said  Susan  Shep 
herd. 

Her  companion  took  it  in,  understanding  but  too 
well;  yet  as  she  lighted  the  matter  for  him  more, 
really,  than  his  own  courage  had  quite  dared — put 
ting  the  absent  dots  on  several  i's — he  saw  new  ques 
tions  swarm.  They  had  been  till  now  in  a  bunch, 
entangled  and  confused;  and  they  fell  apart,  each 
showing  for  itself.  The  first  he  put  to  her  was  at 
any  rate  abrupt.  "  Have  you  heard  of  late  from 
Mrs.  Lowder?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  two  or  three  times.  She  depends,  nat 
urally,  upon  news  of  Milly." 

He  hesitated.  "  And  does  she  depend,  naturally, 
upon  news 'of  we?  " 

His  friend  matched  for  an  instant  his  deliberation. 
"  I've  given  her  none  that  hasn't  been  decently 
good.  This  will  have  been  the  first." 

"  '  This?'  "     Densher  was  thinking. 

"  Lord  Mark's  having  been  here,  and  her  being  as 
she  is." 

He  thought  a  moment  longer.  "  What  has  she 
written  about  him?  Has  she  written  that  he  has 
been  with  them?  " 

"  She  has  mentioned  him  but  once — it  was  in  her 
letter  before  the  last.  Then  she  said  something." 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

"And  what  did  she  say?" 

Mrs.  Stringham  produced  it  with  an  effort. 
"  Well,  it  was  in  reference  to  Miss  Croy.  That  she 
thought  Kate  was  thinking  of  him.  Or  perhaps  I 
should  say,  rather,  that  he  was  thinking  of  her — 
only,  it  seemed  this  time  to  have  struck  Mrs.  Low- 
der,  because  of  his  seeing  the  way  more  open  to 
him/' 

Densher  listened  with  his  eyes  on  the  ground,  but 
he  presently  raised  them  to  speak,  and  there  was  that 
in  his  face  which  proved  him  aware  of  a  queerness  in 
his  question.  "  Does  she  mean  he  has  been  encour 
aged  to  propose  to  her  niece?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  she  means." 

"  Of  course  not  " — he  recovered  himself;  "  and  I 
oughtn't  to  seem  to  trouble  you  to  piece  together 
what  I  can't  piece  myself.  Only,  I  think,"  he  added, 
"  I  can  piece  it." 

She  spoke  a  little  timidly,  but  she  risked  it.  "  I 
dare  say  I  can  piece  it  too." 

It  was  one  of  the  things  in  her — and  his  conscious 
face  took  it  from  her  as  such — that,  from  the  mo 
ment  of  her  coming  in,  had  seemed  to  mark  for  him, 
as  to  what  concerned  him,  the  long  jump  of  her  per 
ception.  They  had  parted  four  da.ys  earlier  with 
many  things,  between  them,  deep  down.  But  these 
things  were  now  on  their  troubled  surface,  and  it 
wasn't  he  who  had  brought  them  so  quickly  up. 
Women  were  wonderful — at  least  this  one  was.  But 
so,  not  less,  was  Milly,  was  Aunt  Maud;  so,  most  of 

3*4 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

all,  was  his  very  Kate.  Well,  he  already  knew  what 
he  had  been  feeling  about  the  circle  of  petticoats. 
They  were  all  such  petticoats !  It  was  just  the  fine 
ness  of  his  tangle.  The  sense  of  that,  in  its  turn,  for 
us  too,  might  have  been  not  unconnected  with  his 
making  an  inquiry  of  his  visitor  that  quite  passed 
over  her  remark.  "  Has  Miss  Croy  meanwhile  writ 
ten  to  our  friend?  " 

"  Oh,"  Mrs.  Stringham  amended,  "  her  friend  also. 
But  not  a  single  word  that  I  know  of." 

He  had  taken  it  for  certain  she  hadn't — the  thing 
being,  after  all,  but  a  shade  more  strange  than  his 
having  himself,  for  six  weeks,  with  Milly,  never 
mentioned  the  young  lady  in  question.  It  was,  for 
that  matter,  but  a  shade  more  strange  than  Milly's 
not  having  mentioned  her.  In  spite  of  which,  and 
however  inconsequently,  he  blushed,  once  more,  for 
Kate's  silence.  He  got  away  from  it  in  fact  as 
quickly  as  possible,  and  the  furthest  he  could  get  was 
by  reverting  for  a  minute  to  the  man  they  had  been 
judging.  "  How  did  he  manage  to  get  at  her?  She 
had  only — with  what  had  passed  between  them  be 
fore — to  say  she  couldn't  see  him." 

"  Oh,  she  was  disposed  to  kindness.  She  was  eas 
ier,"  the  good  lady  explained  with  a  slight  embar 
rassment,  "  than  at  the  other  time." 

"  Easier?  " 

"  She  was  off  her  guard.  There  was  a  difference." 

"  Yes.     But  exactly  not  the  difference." 

"  Exactly  not  the  difference  of  her  having  to  be 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

harsh.  Perfectly.  She  could  afford  to  be  the  oppo 
site."  With  which,  as  he  said  nothing,  she  just 
impatiently  completed  her  sense.  "  She  had  had  you 
here  for  six  weeks." 

"  Oh,"  Densher  softly  groaned. 

"  Besides,  I  think  he  must  have  written  her  first 
— written,  I  mean,  in  a  tone  to  smooth  his  way. 
That  it  would  be  a  kindness  to  himself.  Then  on 
the  spot " 

"  On  the  spot,"  Densher  broke  in,  "  he  un 
masked?  The  horrid  little  beast !  " 

It  made  Susan  Shepherd  turn  slightly  pale, 
though  quickened,  as  for  hope,  the  intensity  of  her 
look  at  him.  "  Oh,  he  went  off  without  an  alarm." 

"  And  he  must  have  gone  off  also  without  a 
hope." 

"  Ah  that,  certainly." 

"  Then  it  was  mere  base  revenge.  Hasn't  he 
known  her,  into  the  bargain,"  the  young  man  asked 
— "  didn't  he,  weeks  before,  see  her,  judge  her,  feel 
her,  as  having,  for  such  a  suit  as  his,  not  more  per 
haps  than  a  few  months  to  live?  " 

Mrs.  Stringham  at  first,  for  reply,  but  looked  at 
him  in  silence;  and  it  gave  more  force  to  what  she 
then  remarkably  added.  "  He  has  doubtless  been 
aware  of  what  you  speak  of,  just  as  you  have  yourself 
been  aware." 

"  He  has  wanted  her,  you  mean,  just  because 

p  » 

"  Just  because,"  said  Susan  Shepherd. 
316 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

"  The  hound !  "  Merton  Densher  brought  out. 
He  moved  off,  however,  with  a  hot  face,  as  soon  as 
he  had  spoken,  conscious  again  of  an  intention  in  his 
visitor's  reserve.  Dusk  was  now  deeper,  and  after 
he  had  once  more  taken  counsel  of  the  dreariness 
without  he  turned  to  his  companion.  "  Shall  we 
have  lights — a  lamp  or  the  candles?  " 

"  Not  for  me." 

"  Nothing?  " 

"  Not  for  me." 

He  waited  at  the  window  another  moment;  then 
he  faced  his  friend  with  a  thought.  "  He  will  have 
proposed  to  Miss  Croy.  That's  what  has  hap 
pened." 

Her  reserve  continued.  "  It's  you  who  must 
judge." 

"  Well,  I  do  judge.  Mrs.  Lowder  will  have  done 
so  too — only  she,  poor  lady,  wrong.  Miss  Croy's 
refusal  of  him  will  have  struck  him  " — Densher  con 
tinued  to  make  it  out — "  as  a  phenomenon  requiring 
a  reason." 

"  And  you've  been  clear  to  him  a?  the  reason?  " 

"  Not  too  clear — since  I'm  sticking  here,  and 
since  that  has  been  a  fact  to  make  his  descent  upon 
Miss  Theale  relevant.  But  clear  enough.  He  has 
believed,"  said  Densher  bravely,  "  that  I  may  have 
been  a  reason  at  Lancaster  Gate,  and  yet  at  the  same 
time  have  been  up  to  something  in  Venice." 

Mrs.  Stringham  took  her  courage  from  his  own. 
"  '  Up  to  '  something?  Up  to  what?  " 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

"  God  knows.  To  some  '  game/  as  they  say.  To 
some  deviltry.  To  some  duplicity." 

"  Which  of  course,"  Mrs.  Stringham  observed, 
"  is  a  monstrous  supposition."  Her  companion, 
after  a  stiff  minute — long,  sensibly,  for  each — fell- 
away  from  her  again,  and  then  added  to  it  another 
minute,  which  he  spent  once  more  looking  out  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets.  This  was  no  answer,  he 
perfectly  knew,  to  what  she  had  dropped,  and  it  even 
seemed  to  state,  for  his  own  ears,  that  no  answer  was 
possible.  She  left  him  to  himself,  and  he  was  glad 
she  had  declined,  for  their  further  colloquy,  the  ad 
vantage  of  lights.  These  would  have  been  an 
advantage  mainly  to  herself.  Yet  she  got  her  bene 
fit,  too;-  even  from  the  absence  of  them.  It  came 
out  in  her  very  tone  when  at  last  she  addressed  him 
— so  differently,  for  confidence — in  words  she  had 
already  used.  "  If  Sir  Luke  himself  asks  it  of  you  as 
something  you  can  do  for  him,  will  you  deny  to  Milly 
herself  what  she  has  been  made  so  dreadfully  to  be 
lieve?  " 

Oh,  how  he  knew  he  hung  back !  But  at  last  he 
said :  "  You're  absolutely  certain  then  that  she 
does  believe  it?  " 

"  Certain?  "  She  appealed  to  their  whole  situa 
tion.  "  Judge ! " 

He  took  his  time  again  to  judge.  "  Do  you  be 
lieve  it?  " 

He  was  conscious  that  his  own  appeal  pressed  her 
hard;  it  eased  him  a  little  that  her  answer  must  be  a 

318 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

pain  to  her  discretion.  She  answered,  none  the  less, 
and  he  was  truly  the  harder  pressed.  "  What  I  be 
lieve  will  inevitably  depend  more  or  less  on  your  ac 
tion.  You  can  perfectly  settle  it — if  you  care.  I 
promise  to  believe  you  down  to  the  ground  if,  to 
save  her  life,  you  consent  to  a  denial." 

"  But  a  denial,  when  it  comes  to  that — confound 
the  whole  thing,  don't  you  see ! — of  exactly  what?  " 

It  was  as  if  he  were  hoping  she  would  narrow;  but 
in  fact  she  enlarged.  "  Of  everything." 

Everything  had  never  even  yet  seemed  to  him  so 
incalculably  much.  "  Oh !  "  he  simply  moaned  into 
the  gloom. 


XXXII 

THE  near  Thursday,  coming  nearer  and  bringing  Sir 
Luke  Strett,  brought  also  blessedly  an  abatement  of 
other  rigours.  The  weather  changed,  the  stubborn 
storm  yielded,  and  the  autumn  sunshine,  baffled  for 
many  days,  but  now  hot  and  almost  vindictive,  came 
into  its  own  again  and,  with  an  almost  audible  paean, 
a  suffusion  of  bright  sound  that  was  one  with  the 
bright  colour,  took  large  possession.  Venice  glowed 
and  plashed  and  called  and  chimed  again;  the  air 
was  like  a  clap  of  hands,  and  the  scattered  pinks,  yel 
lows,  blues,  sea-greens,  were  like  a  hanging-out  of 
vivid  stuffs,  a  laying  down  of  fine  carpets.  Densher 
rejoiced  in  this  on  the  occasion  of  his  going  to  the 
station  to  meet  the  great  doctor.  He  went  after 
consideration,  which,  as  he  was  constantly  aware, 
was  at  present  his  imposed,  his  only,  way  of  doing 
anything.  That  was  where  the  event  had  landed 
him — where  no  event  in  his  life  had  landed  him  be 
fore.  He  had  thought,  no  doubt,  from  the  day  he 
was  born,  much  more  than  he  had  acted;  except  in 
deed  that  he  remembered  thoughts — a  few  of  them 
— which  at  the  moment  of  their  coming  to  him  had 
thrilled  him  almost  like  adventures.  But  anything 
like  his  actual  state  he  had  not,  as  to  the  prohibition 

320 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

of  impulse,  accident,  range — the  prohibition,  in 
other  words,  of  freedom — hitherto  known.  The 
great  oddity  was  that  if  he  had  felt  his  arrival,  so  few 
weeks  back,  especially  as  an  adventure,  nothing 
could  now  less  resemble  one  than  the  fact  of  his  stay 
ing.  It  would  be  an  adventure  to  break  away,  to 
depart,  to  go  back,  above  all,  to  London,  and  tell 
Kate  Croy  he  had  done  so;  but  there  was  something 
of  the  merely,  the  almost  meanly,  obliged  and  in 
volved  sort  in  his  going  on  as  he  was.  That  was  the 
effect  in  particular  of  Mrs.  Stringham's  visit,  which 
had  left  him  as  with  such  a  taste  in  his  mouth  of  what 
he  couldn't  do.  It  had  made  this  quantity  clear 
to  him,  and  yet  had  deprived  him  of  the  sense, 
the  other  sense,  of  what,  for  a  refuge,  he  possibly 
could. 

It  was  but  a  small  make-believe  of  freedom,  he 
knew,  to  go  to  the  station  for  Sir  Luke.  Nothing 
equally  free,  at  all  events,  had  he  yet  turned  over  so 
long.  What  then  was  his  odious  position  but  that, 
again  and  again,  he  was  afraid?  He  stiffened  him 
self  under  this  consciousness  as  if  it  had  been  a  tax 
levied  by  a  tyrant.  He  had  not  at  any  time  pro 
posed  to  himself  to  live  long  enough  for  fear  to  pre 
ponderate  in  his  life.  Such  was  simply  the  advan 
tage  it  had  actually  got  of  him.  He  was  afraid,  for 
instance,  that  an  advance  to  his  distinguished  friend 
might  prove  for  him  somehow  a  pledge  or  a  commit 
tal.  He  was  afraid  of  it  as  a  current  that  would 
draw  him  too  far;  yet  he  thought  with  an  equal 
VOL.  II. -2i  221 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

shrinking  of  being  shabby,  being  poor,  through  fear. 
What  finally  prevailed  with  him  was  the  reflection 
that,  whatever  might  happen,  the  great  man  had, 
after  that  occasion  at  the  palace,  their  friend's  brief 
sacrifice  to  society — and  the  hour  of  Mrs.  String- 
ham's  appeal  had  brought  it  well  to  the  surface — 
shown  him  marked  benevolence.  Mrs.  Stringham's 
comments  on  the  relation  in  which  Milly  had  placed 
them  made  him — it  was  unmistakable — feel  things 
he  perhaps  hadn't  felt.  It  was  in  fact  in  the  spirit  of 
seeking  a  chance  to  feel  again  adequately  whatever 
it  was  he  had  missed — it  was,  no  doubt,  in  that  spirit, 
so  far  as  it  went  a  stroke  for  freedom,  that  Densher, 
arriving  betimes,  paced  the  platform  before  the 
train  came  in.  Only,  after  it  had  come  and  he  had 
presented  himself  at  the  door  of  Sir  Luke's  com 
partment  with  everything  that  followed — only,  as 
the  situation  developed,  the  sense  of  an  anticlimax 
to  so  many  intensities  deprived  his  apprehensions 
and  hesitations  even  of  the  scant  dignity  they  might 
claim.  He  could  scarce  have  said  if  the  visitor's 
manner  less  showed  the  remembrance  that  might 
have  suggested  expectation,  or  made  shorter  work 
of  surprise  in  the  presence  of  the  fact. 

Sir  Luke  had  clean  forgotten — so  Densher  read — 
the  rather  remarkable  young  man  he  had  formerly 
gone  about  with,  though  he  picked  him  up  again,  on 
the  spot,  with  one  large  quiet  look.  The  young 
man  felt  himself  so  picked,  and  the  thing  immediate 
ly  affected  him  as  the  proof  of  a  splendid  economy. 

322 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE   DOVE 

In  presence  of  all  the  waste  with  which  he  was  now 
connected,  the  exhibition  was  of  a  nature  quite  no 
bly  to  admonish  him.  The  eminent  pilgrim,  in  the 
train,  all  the  way,  had  used  the  hours  as  he  had 
needed,  thinking  not  a  moment  in  advance  of  what 
finally  awaited  him.  An  exquisite  case  awaited  him 
— of  which,  in  this  queer  way,  the  remarkable  young 
man  was  an  outlying  part;  but  the  single  motion  of 
his  face,  the  motion  into  which  Densher,  on  the  plat 
form,  lightly  stirred  its  stillness,  was  his  first  re 
newed  cognition.  If,  however,  he  had  suppressed 
the  matter  by  leaving  Victoria  he  would  suppress 
now,  in  a  minute,  instead,  whatever  else  suited.  The 
perception  of  this  became  as  a  symbol  for  Densher  of 
the  whole  pitch,  so  far  as  Densher  himself  might  be 
concerned,  of  his  visit.  One  saw,  our  friend  further 
meditated,  everything  that,  in  contact,  he  appeared 
to  accept — if  only,  for  much,  not  to  trouble  to  sink 
it :  what  one  didn't  see  was  the  inward  use  he  made 
of  it.  Densher  began  wondering,  at  the  great  water- 
steps  outside,  what  use  he  would  make  of  the  anom 
aly  of  their  having  there  to  separate.  Eugenio  had 
been  on  the  platform,  in  the  respectful  rear,  and  the 
gondola  from  the  palace,  under  his  direction,  be 
stirred  itself,  with  its  attaching  mixture  of  alacrity 
and  dignity,  on  their  coming  out  of  the  station  to 
gether.  Densher  didn't  at  all  mind  now  that,  he 
himself  of  necessity  refusing  a  seat,  on  the  deep  black 
cushions,  beside  the  guest  of  the  palace,  he  had 
Milly's  three  emissaries  for  spectators;  and  this,  sus- 

323 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

ceptibility,  he  also  knew,  it  was  something  to  have 
left  behind.  He  only,  vaguely,  smiled  down  from 
the  steps — they  could  see  him,  the  donkeys,  as  shut 
out  as  they  would.  "  I  don't/'  he  said  with  a  sad 
headshake,  "  go  there  now." 

"  Oh !  "  Sir  Luke  Strett  returned,  and  made  no 
more  of  it;  so  that  the  thing  was  splendid,  Densher 
fairly  thought,  as  an  inscrutability  quite  inevitable 
and  unconscious.  His  friend  appeared  not  even  to 
make  of  it  that  he  supposed  that  it  might  be  for  re 
spect  to  the  crisis.  He  didn't  moreover  afterwards 
make  much  more  of  anything — after  the  classic 
craft,  that  is,  obeying  in  the  main  Pasquale's  inimita 
ble  stroke  from  the  poop,  had  performed  the  ma 
noeuvre  by  which  it  presented,  receding,  a  back,  so  to 
speak,  rendered  positively  graceful  by  the  high  black 
hump  of  its  felze.  Densher  watched  the  gondola 
out  of  sight — he  heard  Pasquale's  cry,  borne  to  him 
across  the  water,  for  the  sharp,  firm  swerve  into  a 
side-canal,  a  short  cut  to  the  palace.  He  had  no 
gondola  of  his  own;  it  was  his  habit  never  to  take 
one';  and  he  humbly — as  in  Venice  it  is  humble — 
walked  away,  though  not  without  having,  for  some 
time  longer,  stood,  as  if  fixed,  where  the  guest  of 
the  palace  had  left  him.  It  was  strange  enough,  but 
he  found  himself,  as  never  yet,  and  as  he  couldn't 
have  reckoned,  in  presence  of  the  truth  that  was  the 
truest  about  Milly.  He  couldn't  have  reckoned  on 
the  force  of  the  difference  instantly  made — for  it 
was  all  in  the  air  as  he  heard  Pasquale's  cry  and  saw 

324 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

the  boat  to  disappear — by  the  mere  visibility,  on  the 
spot,  of  the  personage  summoned  to  her  aid.  He 
had  not  only  never  been  near  the  facts  of  her  condi 
tion — which  had  been  such  a  blessing  for  him;  he 
had  not  only,  with  all  the  world,  hovered  outside  an 
impenetrable  ring  fence,  within  which  there  reigned 
a  kind  of  expensive  vagueness,  made  up  of  smiles 
and  silences  and  beautiful  fictions  and  priceless  ar 
rangements,  all  strained  to  breaking;  but  he  had 
also,  with  everyone  else,  as  he  now  felt,  actively  fos 
tered  suppressions  which  were  in  the  direct  interest 
of  everyone's  good  manner,  everyone's  pity,  every 
one's  really  quite  generous  ideal.  It  was  a  conspiracy 
of  silence,  as  the  cliche  went,  to  which  no  one  had 
made  an  exception,  the  great  smudge  of  mortality 
across  the  picture,  the  shadow  of  pain  and  horror, 
finding  in  no  quarter  a  surface  of  spirit  or  of  speech 
that  consented  to  reflect  it.  "  The  mere  aesthetic  in 
stinct  of  mankind !  "  our  young  man  had  more 

than  once,  in  the  connection,  said  to  himself;  letting 
the  rest  of  the  proposition  drop,  but  touching  again 
thus  sufficiently  on  the  outrage  even  to  taste  in 
volved  in  one's  having  to  see.  So  then  it  had  been — a 
general  conscious  fool's  paradise,  from  which  the 
specified  had  been  chased  like  a  dangerous  animal. 
What  therefore  had  at  present  befallen  was  that  the 
specified,  standing  all  the  while  at  the  gate,  had  now 
come  in,  as  in  Sir  Luke  Strett's  person,  and  quite  on 
such  a  scale  as  to  fill  out  the  whole  of  the  space. 
Densher's  nerves,  absolutely  his  heart-beats  too,  had 

325 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

measured  the  change  before  he,  on  this  occasion, 
moved  away. 

The  facts  of  physical  suffering,  of  incurable  pain, 
of  the  chance  grimly  narrowed,  had  been  made,  at  a 
stroke,  intense,  and  this  was  to  be  the  way  he  was 
now  to  feel  them.  The  clearance  of  the  air,  in  short, 
making  vision  not  only  possible  but  inevitable,  the 
one  thing  left  to  be  thankful  for  was  the  breadth  of 
Sir  Luke's  shoulders,  which,  should  one  be  able  to 
keep  in  line  with  them,  might  in  some  degree  inter 
pose.  It  was,  however,  far  from  plain  to  Densher 
for  the  first  day  or  two  that  he  was  again  to  see  his 
distinguished  friend  at  all.  That  he  could  not,  on 
any  basis  actually  serving,  return  to  the  palace — 
that  was  as  solid  to  him,  every  whit,  as  the  other 
feature  of  his  case,  the  fact  of  the  publicity  attaching 
to  his  proscription  through  his  not  having  taken 
himself  off.  He  had  been  seen  often  enough  in  the 
Leporelli  gondola.  As,  accordingly,  he  was  not,  to 
any  appearance,  destined  to  meet  Sir  Luke  about 
the  town,  where  the  latter  would  have  neither  time 
nor  taste  to  lounge,  nothing  more  would  occur  be 
tween  them  unless  the  great  man  should  surprisingly 
wait  upon  him.  His  doing  that,  Densher  further 
reflected,  wouldn't  even  simply  depend  on  Mrs. 
Stringham's  having  decided  to — as  they  might  say — 
turn  him  on.  It  would  depend  as  well — for  there 
would  be  practically  some  difference  to  her — on  her 
actually  attempting  it;  and  it  would  depend  above  all 
on  what  Sir  Luke  would  make  of  such  an  overture. 

326 


THE   WINGS  OF   THE  DOVE 

Densher  had,  for  that  matter,  his  own  view  of  the 
amount,  to  say  nothing  of  the  particular  sort,  of 
response  it  might  expect  from  him.  He  had  his 
own  view  of  the  ability  of  such  a  personage  even  to 
understand  such  an  appeal.  To  what  extent  could 
he  be  prepared,  and  what  importance,  in  fine,  could 
he  attach?  Densher  asked  himself  these  questions, 
in  truth,  to  put  his  own  position  at  the  worst.  He 
should  miss  the  great  man  completely  unless  the 
great  man  should  come  to  see  him,  and  the  great 
man  could  only  come  to  see  him  for  a  purpose 
unsupposable.  Therefore  he  wouldn't  come  at  all, 
and  therefore  there  was  nothing  to  hope. 

It  wasn't  in  the  least  that  Densher  hoped  for  a 
visit  in  that  particular  light;  but  it  pressed  on  him 
that  there  were  few  possible  diversions  he  could  af 
ford  now  to  miss.  Nothing  in  his  predicament  was 
so  odd  as  that,  incontestably  afraid  of  himself,  he  was 
not  afraid  of  Sir  Luke.  He  had  an  impression,  which 
he  clung  to,  based  on  a  previous  taste  of  his  com 
pany,  that  he  would  somehow  let  him  off.  The 
truth  about  Milly  perched  on  his  shoulders  and 
sounded  in  his  tread,  became  by  the  fact  of  his  pres 
ence  the  name  and  the  form,  for  the  time,  of  every 
thing  in  the  place;  but  it  didn't,  for  the  difference, 
sit  in  his  face,  the  face  so  squarely  and  easily  turned 
to  Densher  at  the  earlier  season.  His  presence  on 
the  first  occasion,  not  as  the  result  of  a  summons,  but 
as  a  friendly  fancy  of  his  own,  had  had  quite  another 
value;  and  though  our  young  man  could  scarce  re- 

327 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

gard  that  value  as  recoverable,  he  yet  reached  out  in 
imagination  to  a  renewal  of  the  old  contact.  He 
didn't  propose,  as  he  privately  and  forcibly  phrased 
the  matter,  to  be  a  hog;  but  there  was  something, 
after  all,  he  did  want  for  himself.  It  was  something — 
this  stuck  to  him — that  Sir  Luke  would  have  had  for 
him  if  it  hadn't  been  impossible.  These  were  his 
worst  days, the  two  or  three;  those  on  which  even  the 
sense  of  the  tension  at  the  palace  didn't  much  help 
him  not  to  feel  that  his  destiny  made  but  light  of  him. 
He  had  never  been,  as  he  judged  it,  so  down.  In 
mean  conditions,  without  books,  without  society,  al 
most  without  money,  he  had  nothing  to  do  but  to 
wait.  His  main  support  really  was  his  original  idea, 
which  didn't  leave  him,  of  waiting  for  the  deepest 
depth  his  predicament  could  sink  him  to.  Fate 
would  invent,  if  he  but  gave  it  time,  some  refinement 
of  the  horrible. 

It  was  just  inventing  meanwhile  this  suppres 
sion  of  Sir  Luke.  When  the  third  day  came 
without  a  sign  he  knew  what  to  think.  He  had 
given  Mrs.  Stringham,  during  her  call  on  him,  no 
such  answer  as  would  have  armed  her  faith,  and  the 
ultimatum  she  had  described  as  ready  for  him  when 
he  should  be  ready  was  therefore — if  on  no  other 
ground  than  her  want  of  this  power  to  answer  for 
him — not  to  be  presented.  The  presentation, 
heaven  knew,  was  not  what  he  desired. 

That  was  not,  either,  we  hasten  to  declare — as 
Densher  then  soon  enough  saw — the  idea  with 

3*8 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

which  Sir  Luke  finally  stood  before  him  again.  For 
stand  before  him  again  he  finally  did;  just  when  our 
friend  had  gloomily  embraced  the  belief  that  the 
limit  of  his  power  to  absent  himself  from  London 
obligations  would  have  been  reached.  Four  or  five 
days,  exclusive  of  journeys,  represented  the  largest 
supposable  sacrifice — to  a  head  not  crowned — on 
the  part  of  one  of  the  highest  medical  lights  in  the 
world;  so  that,  really,  when  the  personage  in  ques 
tion,  following  up  a  tinkle  of  the  bell,  solidly  rose  in 
the  doorway,  it  was  to  impose  on  Densher  a  vision 
that  for  the  instant  cut  like  a  knife.  It  spoke,  the 
fact,  in  a  single  dreadful  word,  of  the  magnitude — 
he  shrank  from  calling  it  anything  else — of  Milly's 
case.  The  great  man  had  not  gone  then,  and  an 
immense  surrender  to  her  immense  need  was  so  ex 
pressed  in  it  that  some  effect,  some  help,  some  hope, 
were,  flagrantly,  part  of  the  expression.  It  was  for 
Densher,  with  his  reaction  from  disappointment,  as 
if  he  were  conscious  of  ten  things  at  once — the  fore 
most  being  that,  just  conceivably,  since  Sir  Luke 
was  still  there,  she  had  been  saved.  Close  upon  its 
heels,  however,  and  quite  as  sharply  came  the  sense 
that  the  crisis — plainly,  even  now,  to  be  prolonged 
for  him — was  to  have  none  of  that  sound  simplicity. 
Not  only  had  his  visitor  not  dropped  in  to  gossip 
about  Milly,  he  had  not  dropped  in  to  mention  her 
at  all;  he  had  dropped  in  fairly  to  show  that  during 
the  brief  remainder  of  his  stay,  the  end  of  which  was 
now  in  sight,  as  little  as  possible  of  that  was  to  be 

329 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

looked  for.  The  demonstration,  such  as  it  was,  was 
in  the  key  of  their  previous  acquaintance,  and  it  was 
their  previous  acquaintance  that  had  made  him 
come.  He  was  not  to  stop  longer  than  the  Satur 
day  next  at  hand,  but  there  were  things  of  interest 
he  should  like  to  see  again  meanwhile.  It  was  for 
these  things  of  interest,  for  Venice  and  the  oppor 
tunity  of  Venice,  for  a  prowl  or  two,  as  he  called  it, 
and  a  turn  about,  that  he  had  looked  his  young  man 
up — producing  on  the  latter's  part,  as  soon  as  the 
case  had,  with  the  lapse  of  a  further  twenty-four 
hours,  so  defined  itself,  the  most  incongruous,  yet 
most  beneficent  revulsion.  Nothing  could  in  fact 
have  been  more  monstrous  on  the  surface — and 
Densher  was  well  aware  of  it — than  the  relief  he 
found,  during  this  short  period,  in  the  tacit  drop  of 
all  reference  to  the  palace,  in  neither  hearing  news 
nor  asking  for  it.  That  was  what  had  come  out  for 
him,  on  his  visitor's  entrance,  even  in  the  very  sec 
onds  of  suspense  that  were  connecting  the  fact  also 
directly  and  intensely  with  Milly's  state.  He  had 
come  to  say  he  had  saved  her — he  had  come,  as  from 
Mrs.  Stringham,  to  say  how  she  might  be  saved — 
he  had  come,  in  spite  of  Mrs.  Stringham,  to  say  she 
was  lost :  the  distinct  throbs  of  hope,  of  fear,  simul 
taneous  for  all  their  distinctness,  merged  their  iden 
tity  in  a  bound  of  the  heart  just  as  immediate  and 
which  remained  after  they  had  passed.  It  simply 
did  wonders  for  him — that  was  the  truth — that  Sir 
Luke  was,  as  he  would  have  said,  quiet. 

33° 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

The  result  of  it  was  the  oddest  consciousness  as  of 
a  blessed  calm  after  a  storm.  He  had  been  trying, 
for  weeks,  as  we  know,  to  keep  superlatively  still,  and 
trying  it  largely  in  solitude  and  silence;  but  he 
looked  back  on  it  now  as  on  the  heat  of  fever.  The 
real,  the  right  stillness  was  this  particular  form  of 
society.  They  walked  together  and  they  talked, 
looked  up  pictures  again  and  recovered  impressions 
— Sir  Luke  knew  just  what  he  wanted;  haunted  a 
little  the  dealers  in  old  wares;  sat  down  at  Florian's 
for  rest  and  mild  drinks;  blessed,  above  all,  the  grand 
weather,  a  bath  of  warm  air,  a  pageant  of  autumn 
light.  Once  or  twice,  while  they  rested,  the  great 
man  closed  his  eyes — keeping  them  so  for  some 
minutes  while  his  companion,  the  more  easily  watch 
ing  his  face  for  it,  made  private  reflections  on  the 
subject  of  lost  sleep.  He  had  been  up  at  night  with 
her — he  in  person,  for  hours;  but  this  was  all  he 
showed  of  it,  and  this  was  apparently  to  remain  his 
nearest  approach  to  an  allusion.  The  extraordinary 
thing  was  that  Densher  could  take  it  in  perfectly  as 
evidence,  could  turn  cold  at  the  image  looking  out 
of  it;  and  yet  that  he  could  at  the  same  time  not  in 
termit  a  throb  of  his  response  to  accepted  liberation. 
The  liberation  was  an  experience  that  held  its  own, 
and  he  continued  to  know  why,  in  spite  of  his  de 
serts,  in  spite  of  his  folly,  in  spite  of  everything,  he 
had  so  fondly  hoped  for  it.  He  had  hoped  for  it, 
had  sat  in  his  room  there  waiting  for  it,  because  he 
had  thus  divined  in  it,  should  it  come,  some  power 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

to  let  him  off.  He  was  being  let  off;  dealt  with  in 
the  only  way  that  didn't  aggravate  his  responsibility. 
The"  beauty  was,  too,  that  this  wasn't  on  system  or 
on  any  basis  of  intimate  knowledge;  it  was  just  by 
being  a  man  of  the  world  and  by  knowing  life,  by 
feeling  the  real,  that  Sir  Luke  did  him  good. 
There  had  been,  in  all  the  case,  too  many  women. 
A  man's  sense  of  it,  another  man's,  changed  the  air; 
and  he  wondered  what  man,  had  he  chosen,  would 
have  been  more  to  his  purpose  than  this  one.  He 
was  large  and  easy — that  was  the  great  thing;  he 
knew  what  mattered  and  what  didn't;  he  distin 
guished  between  the  just  grounds  and  the  unjust  for 
fussing.  One  was  thus — if  one  were  concerned 
with  him  or  exposed  to  him  at  all — in  his  hands  for 
whatever  he  should  do,  and  not  much  less  affected  by 
his  mercy  than  one  might  have  been  by  his  rigour. 
The  beautiful  thing — it  did  come  to  that — was  the 
way  he  carried  off,  as  one  might  fairly  call  it,  the 
business  of  making  odd  things  natural.  Nothing, 
if  they  hadn't  taken  it  so,  could  have  exceeded  the 
unexplained  oddity,  between  them,  of  Densher's 
now  complete  detachment  from  the  poor  ladies  at 
the  palace;  nothing  could  have  exceeded  the  no  less 
marked  anomaly  of  the  great  man's  own  abstentions 
of  speech.  He  made,  as  he  had  done  when  they 
had  met  at  the  station,  nothing  whatever  of  any 
thing;  and  the  effect  of  it,  Densher  would  have  said, 
was  a  relation  with  him  quite  resembling  that  of  doc 
tor  and  patient.  One  took  the  cue  from  him  as  one 

332 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

might  have  taken  a  dose — except  that  the  cue  was 
pleasant  in  the  taking. 

That  was  why  one  could  leave  it  to  his  tacit  ..dis 
cretion,  why,  for  the  three  or  four  days,  again  and 
again,  Densher  did  so  leave  it;  merely  wondering  a 
little,  at  the  most,  on  the  eve  of  Saturday,  the  an 
nounced  term  of  the  episode.  Waiting  once  more, 
on  this  latter  occasion,  the  Saturday  morning,  for 
Sir  Luke's  reappearance  at  the  station,  our  friend  had 
to  recognise  the  drop  of  his  own  borrowed  ease,  the 
result,  naturally  enough,  of  the  prospect  of  losing 
a  support.  The  difficulty  was  that,  on  such  lines  as 
had  served  them,  the  support  was  Sir  Luke's  per 
sonal  jj^esence.  Would  he  go  without  leaving  some 
substitute  for  that? — and  without  breaking,  either, 
his  silence  in  respect  to  his  errand?  Densher  was 
in  still  deeper  ignorance  than  at  the  hour  of  his  call, 
and  what  was  truly  prodigious  at  so  supreme  a 
moment  was  that — as  was  immediately  to  ap 
pear — no  gleam  of  light  on  what  he  had  been  liv 
ing  with  for  a  week  found  its  way  out  of  him. 
What  he  had  been  doing  was  proof  of  a  huge 
interest  as  well  as  of  a  huge  fee;  yet  when 
the  Leporelli  gondola  again,  and  somewhat  tar 
dily,  approached,  his  companion,  watching  from 
the  water-steps,  studied  his  fine  closed  face  as 
much  as  ever  in  vain.  It  was  like  a  lesson,  from  the 
highest  authority,  on  the  subject  of  the  relevant,  so 
that  its  blankness  affected  Densher,  of  a  sudden,  al 
most  as  a  cruelty,  feeling  it  quite  awfully  compatible, 

333 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

as  he  did,  with  Milly's  having  ceased  to  exist.  And 
the  suspense  continued  after  they  had  passed  to 
gether,  as  time  was  short,  directly  into  the  station, 
where  Eugenio,  in  the  field  early,  was  mounting 
guard  over  the  compartment  he  had  secured.  The 
strain,  though  probably  lasting,  at  the  carriage-door, 
but  a  couple  of  minutes,  prolonged  itself  so  for  Den- 
sher's  nerves  that  he  involuntarily  directed  a  long 
look  at  Eugenio,  who  met  it,  however,  as  only  Eu 
genio  could.  Sir  Luke's  attention  was  given  for  the 
time  to  the  right  bestowal  of  his  numerous  effects, 
about  which  he  was  particular,  and  Densher  fairly 
found  himself,  so  far  as  silence  could  go,  questioning 
the  representative  of  the  palace.  It  didn't  humiliate 
him  now;  it  didn't  humiliate  him  even  to  feel  that 
that  personage  exactly  knew  how  little  he  satisfied 
him.  Eugenio  resembled  to  that  extent  Sir  Luke 
— to  the  extent  of  the  extraordinary  things  with 
which  his  facial  habit  was  compatible.  By  the 
time,  however,  that  Densher  had  taken  from  it  all 
its  possessor  intended  Sir  Luke  was  free  and  with 
a  hand  out  for  farewell.  He  offered  the  hand  at 
first  without  speech;  only  on  meeting  his  eyes  could 
our  young  man  see  that  they  had  never  yet  so  com 
pletely  looked  at  him.  It  was  never,  with  Sir  Luke, 
that  they  looked  harder  at  one  time  than  at  another; 
but  they  looked  longer,  and  this,  even  a  shade  of  it, 
might  mean,  in  him,  everything.  It  meant,  Den 
sher  for  ten  seconds  believed,  that  Milly  Theale  was 
dead;  so  that  the  word  at  last  spoken  made  him  start. 

334 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

"  I  shall  come  back." 

"  Then  she's  better?" 

"  I  shall  come  back  within  the  month,"  Sir  Luke 
repeated  without  heeding  the  question.  He  had 
dropped  Densher's  hand,  but  he  held  him  otherwise 
still.  "  I  bring  you  a  message  from  Miss  Theale," 
he  said  as  if  they  had  not  spoken  of  her.  "  I'm  com 
missioned  to  ask  you  from  her  to  go  and  see  her." 

Densher's  rebound  from  his  supposition  had  a 
violence  that  his  stare  betrayed.  "  She  asks  me?  " 

Sir  Luke  had  got  into  the  carriage,  the  door  of 
which  the  guard  had  closed;  but  he  spoke  again  as 
he  stood  at  the  window,  bending  a  little  but  not  lean 
ing  out.  "  She  told  me  she  would  like  it,  and  I 
promised  that,  as  I  expected  to  find  you  here,  I 
would  let  you  know." 

Densher,  on  the  platform,  took  it  from  him,  but 
what  he  took  brought  the  blood  into  his  face  quite 
as  what  he  had  had  to  take  from  Mrs.  Stringham. 
And  he  was  also  bewildered.  "  Then  she  can  re 
ceive ?  " 

"  She  can  receive  you." 

"  And  you're  coming  back ?  " 

"  Oh,  because  I  must.  She's  not  to  move.  She's 
to  stay.  I  come  to  her." 

"  I  see,  I  see,"  said  Densher,  who  indeed  did  see — 
saw  the  sense  of  his  friend's  words  and  saw  beyond  it 
as  well.  What  Mrs.  Stringham  had  announced,  and 
what  he  had  yet  expected  not  to  have  to  face,  had 
then  come.  Sir  Luke  had  kept  it  for  the  last,  but 

335 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

there  it  was,  and  the  colourless,  compact  form  it  was 
now  taking — the  tone  of  one  man  of  the  world  to  an 
other,  who,  after  what  had  happened,  would  under 
stand — was  but  the  characteristic  manner  of  his 
appeal.  Densher  was  to  understand  remarkably 
much;  and  the  great  thing,  certainly,  was  to  show 
that  he  did.  "  I'm  particularly  obliged,  I'll  go  to 
day."  He  brought  that  out,  but  in  his  pause,  while 
they  continued  to  look  at  each  other,  the  train  had 
slowly  creaked  into  motion.  There  was  time  but  for 
one  more  word,  and  the  young  man  chose  it,  out  of 
twenty,  with  intense  concentration.  "  Then  she's 

better?  " 

Sir  Luke's  face  was  wonderful.  "  Yes,  she's  bet 
ter."  And  he  kept  it  at  the  window  while  the  train 
receded,  holding  him  with  it  still.  It  was  to  be  his 
nearest  approach  to  the  uttered  reference  they  had 
hitherto  so  successfully  avoided.  If  it  stood  for 
everything,  never  had  a  face  had  to  stand  for  more. 
So  Densher,  held  after  the  train  had  gone,  sharply 
reflected;  so  he  reflected,  asking  himself  into  what 
abyss  it  pushed  him,  even  while  conscious  of  retreat 
ing  under  the  sustained  observation  of  Eugenio. 


336 


BOOK   TENTH 


T 


BOOK    TENTH 

XXXIII 

HEN   it   has   been — what   do   you   say?  a 
whole  fortnight? — without  your  making  a 
sign?" 

Kate  put  that  to  him  distinctly,  in  the  December 
dusk  of  Lancaster  Gate,  and  on  the  matter  of  the 
time  he  had  been  back;  but  he  saw  with  it,  straight 
way,  that  she  was  as  admirably  true  as  ever  to  her 
instinct — which  was  a  system  as  well — of  not  admit 
ting  the  possibility  between  them  of  small  resent 
ments,  of  trifles  to  trip  up  their  general  trust.  That 
by  itself,  the  renewed  beauty  of  it,  would,  at  this  fresh 
sight  of  her,  have  stirred  him  to  his  depths  if  some 
thing  else,  something  no  less  vivid,  but  quite  sepa 
rate,  hadn't  stirred  him  still  more.  It  was  in  seeing 
her  that  he  felt  what  their  interruption  had  been,  and 
that  they  met  across  it  even  as  persons  whose  adven 
tures,  on  either  side,  in  time  and  space,  of  the  nature 
of  perils  and  exiles,  had  had  a  peculiar  strangeness. 
He  wondered  if  he  were  as  different  for  her  as  she 
herself  had  immediately  appeared :  which  was  but  his 
way  indeed  of  taking  it  in,  with  his  thrill,  that — even 
going  by  the  mere  first  look — she  had  never  been  so 

339 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

handsome.  That  fact  bloomed  for  him,  in  the  fire 
light  and  lamplight  that  glowed  their  welcome 
through  the  London  fog,  as  the  flower  of  her  differ 
ence;  just  as  her  difference  itself — part  of  which  was 
her  striking  him  as  older  in  a  degree  for  which  no 
mere  couple  of  months  could  account — was  the  fruit 
of  their  intimate  relation.  If  she  was  different  it 
was  because  they  had  chosen  together  that  she 
should  be,  and  she  might  now,  as  a  proof  of  their 
wisdom,  their  success,  of  the  reality  of  what  had  hap 
pened — of  what  in  fact,  for  the  spirit  of  each,  was 
still  happening — been  showing  it  to  him  for  pride. 
His  having  returned  and  yet  kept,  for  numbered 
days,  so  still,  had  been,  he  was  quite  aware,  the  first 
point  he  should  have  to  tackle;  with  which  con 
sciousness  indeed  he  had  made  a  clean  breast  of  it  in 
finally  addressing  Mrs.  Lowder  a  note  that  had  led 
to  his  present  visit.  He  had  written  to  Aunt  Maud, 
as  the  finer  way;  and  it  would  doubtless  have  been 
to  be  noted  that  he  needed  no  effort  not  to  write  to 
Kate.  Venice  was  three  weeks  behind  him — he  had 
come  up  slowly;  but  it  was  still  as  if  even  in  London 
he  must  conform  to  her  law.  That  was  exactly  how 
he  was  able,  with  his  faith  in  her  steadiness,  to  ap 
peal  to  her  feeling  for  the  situation  and  explain  his 
stretched  delicacy.  He  had  come  to  tell  her  every 
thing,  so  far  as  occasion  would  serve  them;  and  if 
nothing  was  more  distinct  than  that  his  slow  jour 
ney,  his  waits,  his  delay  to  reopen  communication 
had  kept  pace  with  this  resolve,  so  the  inconse- 

340 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

quence  was  doubtless  at  bottom  but  one  of  the  acci 
dents  of  intensity.  He  was  gathering  everything 
up,  everything  he  should  tell  her.  That  took  time, 
and  the  proof  was  that,  as  he  felt  on  the  spot,  he 
couldn't  have  brought  it  all  with  him  before  this  af 
ternoon.  He  had  brought  it,  to  the  last  syllable,  and, 
out  of  the  quantity  it  wouldn't  be  hard — as  he  in 
fact  found — to  produce,  for  Kate's  understanding, 
his  first  reason. 

"  A  fortnight,  yes — it  was  a  fortnight  Friday;  but 
I've  only  been  keeping  in,  you  see,  with  our  wonder 
ful  system."  He  was  so  easily  justified  as  that  this 
of  itself  plainly  enough  prevented  her  saying  she 
didn't  see.  Their  wonderful  system  was  accordingly 
still  vivid  for  her;  and  such  a  gage  of  its  equal  vivid 
ness  for  himself  was  precisely  what  she  must  have 
asked.  He  hadn't  even  to  dot  his  i's  beyond  the 
remark  that,  on  the  very  face  of  it,  she  would  remem 
ber,  their  wonderful  system  attached  no  premium  to 
rapidities  of  transition.  "  I  couldn't  quite — don't 
you  know? — take  my  rebound  with  a  rush;  and  I 
suppose  I've  been  instinctively  hanging  off  to  mini 
mise,  for  you  as  well  as  for  myself,  the  appearance 
of  rushing.  There's  a  sort  of  fitness.  But  I  knew 
you'd  understand."  It  was  presently  as  if  she  really 
understood  so  well  that  she  almost  appealed  from 
his  insistence — yet  looking  at  him  too,  he  was  not 
unconscious,  as  if  this  mastery  of  fitnesses  was  a 
strong  sign  for  her  of  what  she  had  done  to  him.  He 
might  have  struck  her  as  expert  for  contingencies 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

in  the  very  degree  in  which,  in  Venice,  she  had 
struck  him  as  expert.  He  smiled  over  his  plea  for  a 
renewal  with  stages  and  steps,  a  thing  shaded,  as 
they  might  say,  and  graduated;  though — finely  as 
she  must  respond — she  met  the  smile  but  as  she  had 
met  his  entrance  five  minutes  before.  Her  soft 
gravity  at  that  moment — which  was  yet  not  solem 
nity,  but  the  look  of  a  consciousness  charged  with 
life  to  the  brim  and  wishing  not  to  overflow — had 
not  qualified  her  welcome;  what  had  done  this  being 
much  more  the  presence  in  the  room,  for  a  couple  of 
minutes,  of  the  footman  who  had  introduced  him 
and  who  had  been  interrupted  in  preparing  the  tea- 
table. 

Mrs.  Lowder's  reply  to  Densher's  note  had 
been  to  appoint  the  tea-hour,  five  o'clock  on  Sun 
day,  for  his  seeing  them.  Kate  had  thereafter  wired 
him,  without  a  signature,  "  Come  on  Sunday  before 
time — about  a  quarter-of-an-hour,  which  will  help 
us  ";  and  he  had  arrived  therefore,  scrupulously,  at 
twenty  minutes  to  five.  Kate  was  alone  in  the 
room,  and  she  had  not  delayed  to  tell  him  that  Aunt 
Maud,  as  she  had  happily  gathered,  was  to  be,  for 
the  interval — not  long,  but  precious — engaged  with 
an  old  servant,  retired  and  pensioned,  who  had  been 
paying  her  a  visit  and  who  was,  within  the  hour,  to 
depart  again  for  the  suburbs.  They  were  to  have 
the  scrap  of  time,  after  the  withdrawal  of  the  foot 
man,  to  themselves,  and  there  was  a  moment  when, 
in  spite  of  their  wonderful  system,  in  spite  of  the  pro- 

342 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

scription  of  rushes  and  the  propriety  of  shades,  it 
proclaimed  itself  indeed  precious.  And  all  without 
prejudice — that  was  what  kept  it  noble — to  Kate's 
high  sobriety  and  her  beautiful  self-command.  If 
he  had  his  discretion  she  had  her  perfect  manner, 
which  was  her  decorum.  Mrs.  Stringham,  he  had, 
to  finish  with  the  question  of  his  delay,  furthermore 
observed,  would  have  written  to  Mrs.  Lowder  of  his 
having  quitted  the  place;  so  that  it  wasn't  as  if  he 
were  hoping  to  cheat  them.  They  would  know  he 
was  no  longer  there. 

"  Yes,  we've  known  it." 

"  And  you  continue  to  hear?  " 

"  From  Mrs.  Stringham?  Certainly.  By  which 
I  mean  Aunt  Maud  does." 

"  Then  you've  recent  news?" 

Her  face  showed  a  wonder.  "  Up  to  within  a 
day  or  two  I  believe.  But  haven't  you?  " 

"  No — I've  heard  nothing."  And  it  was  now  that 
he  felt  how  much  he  had  to  tell  her.  "  I  don't  get 
letters.  But  I've  been  sure  Mrs.  Lowder  does." 
With  which  he  added :  "  Then  of  course  you 
know."  He  waited  as  if  she  would  show  what  she 
knew;  but  she  only  showed,  in  silence,  the  dawn  of 
a  surprise  that  she  couldn't  control.  There  was 
nothing  but  for  him  to  ask  what  he  wanted.  "  Is 
Miss  Theale  alive?  " 

Kate's  look,  at  this,  was  large.  "  Don't  you 
know?  " 

"  How  should  I,  my  dear — in  the  absence  of 
343 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

everything?  "  And  he  himself  stared  as  for  light. 
"  She's  dead?  "  Then  as,  with  her  eyes  on  him,  she 
slowly  shook  her  head,  he  uttered  a  strange  "  Not 
yet?  " 

It  came  out  in  Kate's  face  that  there  were  several 
questions  on  her  lips,  but  the  one  she  presently  put 
was :  "  Is  it  very  terrible?  " 

"  The  manner  of  her  so  consciously  and  helplessly 
dying?  "  He  had  to  think  a  moment.  "  Well,  yes 
— since  you  ask  me :  very  terrible  to  me — so  far  as, 
before  I  came  away,  I  had  any  sight  of  it.  But  I  don't 
think,"  he  went  on,  "  that — though  I'll  try — I  can 
quite  tell  you  what  it  was,  what  it  is,  for  me.  That's 
why  I  probably  just  sounded  to  you,"  he  explained, 
"  as  if  I  hoped  it  might  be  over." 

She  gave  him  her  quietest  attention,  but  he  by  this 
time  saw  that,  so  far  as  telling  her  all  was  concerned, 
she  would  be  divided  between  the  wish  and  the  re 
luctance  to  hear  it;  between  the  curiosity  that,  not 
unnaturally,  would  consume  her  and  the  opposing 
scruple  of  a  respect  for  misfortune.  The  more  she 
studied  him  too — and  he  had  never  so  felt  her  closely 
attached  to  his  face — the  more  the  choice  of  an  atti 
tude  would  become  impossible  to  her.  There 
would  be  a  feeling,  simply,  uppermost,  and  the  feel 
ing  wouldn't  be  eagerness.  This  perception  grew  in 
him  fast,  and  he  even,  with  his  imagination,  had  for 
a  moment  the  quick  forecast  of  her  possibly  break 
ing  out  at  him,  should  he  go  too  far,  with  a  wonder 
ful:  "What  horrors  are  you  telling  me?"  It 

344 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

would  have  the  sound — wouldn't  it  be  open  to  him 
fairly  to  bring  that  out  himself? — of  a  repudiation, 
for  pity  and  almost  for  shame,  of  everything  that,  in 
Venice,  had  passed  between  them.  Not  that  she 
would  confess  to  any  return  upon  herself;  not  that 
she  would  let  compunction  or  horror  give  her  away; 
but  it  was  in  the  air  for  him — yes — that  she  wouldn't 
want  details,  that  she  positively  wouldn't  take  them, 
and  that,  if  he  would  generously  understand  it  from 
her,  she  would  prefer  to  keep  him  down.  Nothing, 
however,  was  more  definite  for  him  than  that  he,  at 
the  same  time,  must  remain  down  but  so  far  as  it 
suited  him.  Something  rose  strong  within  him 
against  his  not  being  free  with  her.  She  had  been 
free  enough,  about  it  all,  three  months  before,  with 
him.  That  was  what  she  was  at  present  only  in  the 
sense  of  treating  him  handsomely.  "  I  can  believe," 
she  said  with  perfect  consideration,  "  how  dreadful 
for  you  much  of  it  must  have  been." 

He  didn't,  however,  take  this  up;  there  were 
things  about  which  he  wished  first  to  be  clear. 
"  There's  no  other  possibility,  by  what  you  now 
know?  I  mean  for  her  life."  And  he  had  just  to 
insist — she  would  say  as  little  as  she  could.  "  She  is 
dying?  " 

"  She's  dying." 

It  was  strange  to  him,  in  the  matter  of  Milly,  that 
Lancaster  Gate  could  make  him  any  surer;  yet  what 
in  the  world,  in  the  matter  of  Milly,  was  not  strange? 
Nothing  was  so  much  so  as  his  own  behaviour — his 

345 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

present  as  well  as  his  past.  He  could  but  do  as  he 
must.  "  Has  Sir  Luke  Strett,"  he  asked,  "  gone 
back  to  her?  " 

"  I  believe  he's  there  now." 

"  Then,"  said  Densher,  "  it's  the  end." 

She  took  it  in  silence  for  whatever  he  deemed  it  to 
be;  but  she  spoke  otherwise  after  a  minute.  '  You 
won't  know,  unless  you've  perhaps  seen  him  your 
self,  that  Aunt  Maud  has  been  to  him." 

"  Oh !  "  Densher  exclaimed,  with  nothing  to  add 
to  it. 

"  For  real  news,"  Kate  herself  after  an  instant 
added. 

"  She  hasn't  thought  Mrs.  Stringham's  real?  " 

"  It's  perhaps  only  I  who  haven't.  It  was  on  Aunt 
Maud's  trying  again,  three  days  ago,  to  see  him, 
that  she  heard,  at  his  house,  of  his  having  gone.  He 
had  started,  I  believe,  some  days  before." 

"  And  won't  then  by  this  time  be  back?  " 

Kate  shook  her  head.  "  She  sent  yesterday  to 
know." 

"  He  won't  leave  her  then  " — Densher  had  turned 
it  over — "  while  she  lives.  He'll  stay  to  the  end. 
He's  magnificent." 

"  I  think  she  is,"  said  Kate. 

It  had  made  them  again  look  at  each  other  long; 
and  what  it  drew  from  him,  rather  oddly,  was :  "  Oh, 
you  don't  know !  " 

"  Well,  she's  after  all  my  friend." 

It  was  somehow,  with  her  handsome  demur,  the 
346 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

answer  he  had  least  expected  of  her;  and  it  fanned 
with  its  breath,  for  a  brief  instant,  his  old  sense  of 
her  variety.  "  I  see.  You  would  have  been  sure  of 
it.  You  were  sure  of  it." 

"  Of  course  I  was  sure  of  it." 

And  a  pause  again,  with  this,  fell  upon  them; 
which  Densher,  however,  presently  broke.  "  If  you 
don't  think  Mrs.  Stringham's  news  '  real/  what  do 
you  think  of  Lord  Mark's?  " 

She  didn't  think  anything.     "  Lord  Mark's?  " 

"  You  haven't  seen  him?  " 

"  Not  since  he  saw  her." 

"  You've  known  then  of  his  seeing  her?  " 

"  Certainly.     From  Mrs.  Stringham." 

"  And  have  you  known,"  Densher  went  on,  "the 
rest?" 

Kate  wondered.     "  What  rest?  " 

"  Why,  everything.  It  was  his  visit  that  she 
couldn't  stand — it  was  what  then  took  place  that 
simply  killed  her." 

"  Oh !  "  Kate  seriously  breathed.  But  she  had 
turned  pale,  and  he  saw  that,  whatever  her  degree  of 
ignorance  of  these  connections,  it  was  not  put  on. 
"  Mrs.  Stringham  hasn't  said  that" 

He  observed,  none  the  less,  that  she  didn't  ask 
what  had  then  taken  place;  and  he  went  on  with  his 
contribution  to  her  knowledge.  "  The  way  it  af 
fected  her  was  that  it  made  her  give  up.  She  has 
given  up  beyond  all  power  to  care  again,  and  that's 
why  she's  dying." 

347 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

"  Oh !  "  Kate  once  more  slowly  sighed,  but  with  a 
vagueness  that  made  him  pursue. 

"  One  can  see  now  that  she  was  living  by  will — 
which  was  very  much  what  you  originally  told  me  of 
her." 

"  I  remember.     That  was  it." 

"  Well  then,  her  will,  at  a  given  moment,  broke 
down,  and  the  collapse  was  determined  by  that  fel 
low's  dastardly  stroke.  He  told  her,  the  scoundrel, 
that  you  and  I  are  secretly  engaged." 

Kate  gave  a  quick  glare.  "  But  he  doesn't  know 
it!" 

"  That  doesn't  matter.  She  did,  when  he  had  left 
her.  Besides,"  Densher  added,  "  he  does  know  it. 
When,"  he  continued,  "  did  you  last  see  him?  " 

But  she  was  lost  now  in  the  picture  before  her. 
"  That  was  what  made  her  worse?  " 

He  watched  her  take  it  in — it  so  added  to  her 
sombre  beauty.  Then  he  spoke  as  Mrs.  Stringham 
had  spoken.  "  She  turned  her  face  to  the  wall." 

"  Poor  Milly!"  said  Kate. 

Slight  as  it  was,  her  beauty  somehow  gave  it 
style;  so  that  he  continued  consistently:  "She 
learned  it,  you  see,  too  soon — since  of  course  one's 
idea  had  been  that  she  might  never  even  learn  it  at  all. 
And  she  had  felt  sure — through  everything  we  had 
done — of  there  not  being,  between  us,  so  far  at  least 
as  you  were  concerned,  anything  she  need  regard  as 
a  warning." 

She  took  another  moment  for  thought.  "  It 
348 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

wasn't  through  anything  you  did — whatever  that 
may  have  been — that  she  gained  her  certainty.  It 
was  by  the  conviction  she  got  from  me." 

"  Oh,  it's  very  handsome,"  Densher  said,  "  for 
you  to  take  your  share !  " 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  Kate  asked,  "  I  think  of  deny 
ing  it?" 

Her  look  and  her  tone  made  him,  for  the  instant, 
regret  his  comment,  which  indeed  had  been  the  first 
that  rose  to  his  lips  as  an  effect,  absolutely,  of  what 
they  would  have  called  between  them  her  straight- 
ness.  Her  straightness,  visibly,  was  all  his  own  loy 
alty  could  ask.  Still,  that  was  comparatively  beside 
the  mark.  "  Of  course  I  don't  suppose  anything 
but  that  we're  together  in  our  recognitions,  our  re 
sponsibilities — whatever  we  choose  to  call  them.  It 
isn't  a  question  for  us  of  apportioning  shares  or  dis 
tinguishing  invidiously  among  such  impressions  as 
it  was  our  idea  to  give." 

"  It  wasn't  your  idea  to  give  impressions,"  said 
Kate. 

He  met  this  with  a  smile  that  he  himself  felt,  in  its 
strained  character,  as  queer.  "  Don't  go  into  that !  " 

It  was  perhaps  not  as  going  into  it  then  that  she 
had  another  idea — an  idea  born,  as  she  showed,  of 
the  vision  he  had  just  evoked.  "  Wouldn't  it  have 
been  possible  then  to  deny  the  truth  of  the  informa 
tion?  I  mean  of  Lord  Mark's." 

Densher  wondered.     "  Possible  for  whom?  " 

"  Why,  for  you." 

349 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

"To  tell  her  that  he  lied?" 

"  To  tell  her  he's  mistaken." 

Densher  stared — he  was  stupefied;  the  "  possi 
ble  "  thus  glanced  at  by  Kate  being  exactly  the 
alternative  he  had  had  to  face  in  Venice,  and  to  put 
utterly  away  from  him.  Nothing  was  stranger  than 
such  a  difference  in  their  view  of  it.  "  And  to  lie 
myself,  you  mean,  to  do  it  ?  We  are,  my  dear  child," 
he  said,  "  I  suppose,  still  engaged." 

"  Of  course  we're  still  engaged.  But  to  save  her 
life !" 

He  took  in  for  a  little  the  way  she  talked  of  it.  Of 
course,  it  was  to  be  remembered,  she  had  always 
simplified,  and  it  brought  back  his  sense  of  the  de 
gree  in  which,  to  her  energy  as  compared  with  his 
own,  many  things  were  easy;  the  very  sense  that  so 
often  before  had  moved  him  to  admiration.  "  Well, 
if  you  must  know — and  I  want  you  to  be  clear  about 
it — I  didn't  even  seriously  think  of  a  denial  to  her 
face.  The  question  of  it — as  possibly  saving  her — 
was  put  to  me  definitely  enough;  but  to  turn  it  over 
was  only  to  dismiss  it.  Besides,"  he  added,  "  it 
wouldn't  have  done  any  good." 

'*  You  mean  she  would  have  had  no  faith  in  your 
correction?  "  She  had  spoken  with  a  promptitude 
that  affected  him  of  a  sudden  as  almost  glib;  but  he 
himself  paused  with  the  overweight  of  all  he  meant, 
and  she  meanwhile  went  on.  "  Did  you  try?  " 

"  I  hadn't  even  the  chance." 

Kate  maintained  her  wonderful  manner,  the  man- 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

ner  of  at  once  having  it  all  before  her  and  yet  keep 
ing  it  all  at  its  distance.  "  She  wouldn't  see  you?  " 

"  Not  after  your  friend  had  been  with  her." 

She  hesitated.     "  Couldn't  you  write?  " 

It  made  him  also  think,  but  with  a  difference. 
"  She  had  turned  her  face  to  the  wall." 

This  again  for  a  moment  hushed  her,  and  they 
were  both  too  grave  now  for  parenthetic  pity.  But 
her  interest  came  out  for  at  least  the  minimum  of 
light.  "  She  refused  even  to  let  you  speak  to  her?  " 

"  My  dear  girl,"  Densher  returned,  "she  was  mis 
erably,  prohibitively  ill." 

"Well,  that  was  what  she  had  been  before." 

"  And  it  didn't  prevent?  No,"  Densher  admitted, 
"  it  didn't;  and  I  don't  pretend  that  she's  not  mag 
nificent." 

"  She's  prodigious,"  said  Kate  Croy. 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment.  "  So  are  you,  my 
dear.  But  so  it  is,"  he  wound  up;  "  and  there  we 
are." 

His  idea  had  been,  in  advance,  that  she  would  per 
haps  sound  him  much  more  deeply,  asking  him, 
above  all,  two  or  three  specific  things.  He  had 
fairly  fancied  her  even  wanting  to  know  and  trying 
to  find  out  how  far,  as  the  odious  phrase  was,  he  and 
Milly  had  gone,  and  how  near,  by  the  same  token, 
they  had  come.  He  had  asked  himself  if  he  were 
prepared  to  hear  her  do  that,  and  had  had  to  take  for 
answer  that  he  was  prepared  of  course  for  every 
thing.  Wasn't  he  prepared  for  her  ascertaining  if 

351 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

her  two  or  three  prophecies  had  found  time  to  be 
made  true?  He  had  fairly  believed  himself  ready 
to  say  whether  or  no  the  overture  on  Milly's  part, 
promised  according  to  the  boldest  of  them,  had 
taken  place.  But  what  was  in  fact  blessedly  coming 
to  him  was  that,  so  far  as  such  things  were  con 
cerned,  his  readiness  wouldn't  be  taxed.  Kate's 
pressure  on  the  question  of  what  had  taken  place 
remained  so  admirably  general  that  even  her  present 
inquiry  kept  itself  free  of  sharpness.  u  So  then  that 
after  Lord  Mark's  interference  you  never  again 
met?" 

It  was  what  he  had  been  all  the  while  coming  to. 

"  No;  we  met  once — so  far  as  it  could  be  called  a 
meeting.  I  had  stayed — I  didn't  come  away." 

"  That,"  said  Kate,  "  was  no  more  than  decent." 

"  Precisely  " — he  felt  himself  wonderful;  "  and  I 
wanted  to  be  no  less.  She  sent  for  me,  I  went  to 
her,  and  that  night  I  left  Venice." 

His  companion  waited.  "  Wouldn't  that  then 
have  been  your  chance?  " 

"  To  refute  Lord  Mark's  story?  No,  not  even  if, 
before  her  there,  I  had  wanted  to.  What  did  it  mat 
ter,  either?  She  was  dying." 

"  Well,"  Kate  in  a  manner  persisted.  "  Why  not 
just  because  she  was  dying?  "  She  had,  however, 
all  her  discretion.  "  But  of  course,  I  know,  seeing 
her,  you  could  judge." 

"  Of  course,  seeing  her,  I  could  judge.  And  I 
did  see  her !  If  I  had  denied  you,  moreover,"  Den- 

352 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

sher  said  with  his  eyes  on  her,  "  I  would  have  stuck 
to  it." 

She  took  for  a  moment  the  intention  of  his  face. 
"  You  mean  that,  to  convince  her,  you  would  have 
insisted  or  somehow  proved ?  " 

"  I  mean  that,  to  convince  you,  I  would  have  in 
sisted  or  somehow  proved !  " 

Kate  looked  for  her  moment  at  a  loss.  "  To  con 
vince  '  me'  ?  " 

"  I  wouldn't  have  made  my  denial,  in  such  condi 
tions,  only  to  take  it  back  afterwards." 

With  this  quickly  light  came  for  her,  and  with  it 
also  her  colour  flamed.  "  Oh,  you  would  have 
broken  with  me  to  make  your  denial  a  truth?  You 
would  have  '  chucked  '  me  " — she  embraced  it  per 
fectly — "  to  save  your  conscience?  " 

"  I  couldn't  have  done  anything  else,"  said  Mer- 
ton  Densher.  "  So  you  see  how  right  I  was  not  to 
commit  myself,  and  how  little  I  could  dream  of  it. 
If  it  ever  again  appears  to  you  that  I  might  have  done 
so,  remember  what  I  say." 

Kate  again  considered,  but  not  with  the  effect  at 
once  to  which  he  pointed.  "  You  have  fallen  in 
love  with  her." 

"  Well  then,  say  so — with  a  dying  woman.  Why 
need  you  mind,  and  what  does  it  matter?  " 

It  came  from  him,  the  question,  straight  out  of  the 
intensity  of  relation  and  the  face-to-face  necessity 
into  which,  from  the  first,  from  his  entering  the 
room,  they  had  found  themselves  thrown;  but  it 

VOL.  IL-a3  353 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

gave  them  their  most  extraordinary  moment. 
"  Wait  till  she  is  dead !  Mrs.  Stringham,"  Kate 
added,  "  is  to  telegraph."  After  which,  in  a  tone 
still  different,  "  For  what  then,"  she  asked,  "  did 
Milly  send  for  you?  " 

"  It  was  what  I  tried  to  make  out  before  I  went. 
I  must  tell  you  moreover  that  I  had  no  doubt  of  its 
really  being  to  give  me,  as  you  say,  a  chance.  She 
believed,  I  suppose,  that  I  might  deny;  and  what,  to 
my  own  mind,  was  before  me  in  going  to  her  was  the 
certainty  that  she  would  put  me  to  my  test.  She 
wanted  from  my  own  lips — so  I  saw  it — the  truth. 
But  I  was  with  her  for  twenty  minutes,  and  she 
never  asked  me  for  it." 

"  She  never  wanted  the  truth  " — Kate  had  a  high 
headshake.  "  She  wanted  you.  She  would  have 
taken  from  you  what  you  could  give  her,  and  been 
glad  of  it  even  if  she  had  known  it  false.  You 
might  have  lied  to  her  from  pity,  and  she  have  seen 
you  and  felt  you  lie,  and  yet — since  it  was  all  for  ten 
derness — she  would  have  thanked  you  and  blessed 
you  and  clung  to  you  but  the  more.  For  that  was 
your  strength,  my  dear  man — that  she  loves  you 
with  passion." 

"  Oh,  my  '  strength ! '  "  Densher  coldly  mur 
mured. 

"  What  then,  at  least,  since  she  had  sent  for  you, 
was  it  to  ask  of  you?"  And  then — -quite  without 
irony — as  he  waited  a  moment  to  say :  "  Was  it 
just  once  more  to  look  at  you?  " 

354 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

"  She  had  nothing  to  ask  of  me — nothing,  that  is, 
but  not  to  stay  any  longer.  She  did,  to  that  extent, 
want  to  see  me.  She  had  supposed,  at  first — after 
he  had  been  with  her — that  I  had  seen  the  propriety 
of  taking  myself  off.  Then,  since  I  hadn't — seeing 
my  propriety  as  I  did  in  another  way — she  found, 
days  later,  that  I  was  still  there.  This,"  said  Den- 
sher,  "  affected  her." 

"  Of  course  it  affected  her." 

Again  she  struck  him,  for  all  her  dignity,  as  glib. 
"  If  it  was,  somehow,  for  her  I  was  still  staying,  she 
wished  that  to  end,  she  wished  me  to  know  how 
little  there  was  need  of  it.  And,  as  a  manner  of  fare 
well,  she  wished  herself  to  tell  me  so." 

"  And  she  did  tell  you  so?  " 

"  Face-to-face,  yes.     Personally,  as  she  desired." 

"  And  as  you  of  course  did." 

"  No,  Kate,"  he  returned  with  all  their  mutual 
consideration;  "  not  as  I  did.  I  hadn't  desired  it  in 
the  least." 

"  You  only  went  to  oblige  her?  " 

"  To  oblige  her.  And  of  course  also  to  oblige 
you." 

"  Oh,  for  myself,  certainly,  I'm  glad." 

" '  Glad? '  '  he  echoed  vaguely  the  way  it  rang 
out. 

"  I  mean  you  did  quite  the  right  thing.  You  did 
it  especially  in  having  stayed.  But  that  was  all?  " 
Kate  went  on.  "  That  you  mustn't  wait?  " 

''  That  was  really  all — and  in  perfect  kindness." 
355 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

"  Ah,  kindness  naturally:  from  the  moment  she 
asked  of  you  such  a — well,  such  an  effort.  That  you 
mustn't  wait — that  was  the  point,"  Kate  added — 
11  to  see  her  die." 

"  That  was  the  point,  my  dear,"  Densher  said. 

"  And  it  took  twenty  minutes  to  make  it?  " 

He  thought  a  little.  "  I  didn't  time  it  to  a  sec 
ond.  I  paid  her  the  visit — just  like  another." 

"  Like  another  person?  " 

"  Like  another  visit." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Kate.  Which  had  apparently  the 
effect  of  slightly  arresting  his  speech — an  arrest  she 
took  advantage  of  to  continue;  making  with  it  in 
deed  her  nearest  approach  to  an  inquiry  of  the  kind 
against  which  he  had  braced  himself.  "  Did  she  re 
ceive  you — in  her  condition — in  her  room?  " 

"  Not  she,"  said  Merton  Densher.  "  She  received 
me  just  as  usual :  in  that  glorious  great  salone,  in  the 
dress  she  always  wears,  from  her  inveterate  corner 
of  her  sofa."  And  his  face,  for  the  moment,  con 
veyed  the  scene,  just  as  hers,  equally,  embraced  it. 
"  Do  you  remember  what  you  originally  said  to  me 
of  her?  " 

"  Ah,  I've  said  so  many  things." 

"  That  she  wouldn't  smell  of  drugs,  that  she 
wouldn't  taste  of  medicine.  Well,  she  didn't." 

"  So  that  it  was  really  almost  happy?  " 

It  took  him  a  long  time  to  answer,  occupied  as  he 
partly  was  in  feeling  how  nobody  but  Kate  could 
have  invested  such  a  question  with  the  tone  that  was 

356 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

perfectly  right.  She  meanwhile,  however,  patiently 
waited.  "  I  don't  think  I  can  attempt  to  say  now 
what  it  was.  Some  day — perhaps.  For  it  would 
be  worth  it  for  us." 

"  Some  day — certainly."  She  took  it  as  a  gener 
ous  promise.  Yet  she  spoke  again  abruptly. 
"  She'll  recover." 

"  Well,"  said  Densher,  "  you'll  see." 

She  had  the  air  an  instant  of  trying  to.  "  Did 
she  show  anything  of  her  feeling?  I  mean,"  Kate 
explained,  "  of  her  feeling  of  having  been  misled." 

She  didn't  press  hard,  surely;  but  he  had  just 
mentioned  that  he  would  have  rather  to  glide. 
"  She  showed  nothing  but  her  beauty  and  her 
strength.'"' 

'  Then,"  his  companion  asked,  "  what's  the  use  of 
her  strength?  " 

He  seemed  to  look  about  for  a  use  he  could 
name;  but  he  had  soon  given  it  up.  "  She  must  die, 
my  dear,  in  her  own  extraordinary  way." 

"  Naturally.  But  I  don't  see  then  what  proof 
you  have  that  she  was  ever  alienated." 

"  I  have  the  proof  that  she  refused  for  days  and 
days  to  see  me." 

"  But  she  was  ill." 

"  That  hadn't  prevented  her — as  you  yourself  a 
moment  ago  said — during  the  previous  time.  If  it 
had  been  only  illness  it  would  have  .made  no  differ 
ence  with  her." 

"  She  would  still  have  received  you?  " 
357 


THE  WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

"  She  would  still  have  received  me." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Kate,  "  if  you  know !  " 

"  Of  course  I  know.  I  know  moreover,  as  well, 
from  Mrs.  Stringham." 

"  And  what  does  Mrs.  Stringham  know?  " 

"  Everything." 

She  looked  at  him  longer.     "  Everything?  " 

"  Everything." 

"  Because  you've  told  her?  " 

"  Because  she  has  seen  for  herself.  I've  told  her 
nothing.  She's  a  person  who  does  see." 

Kate  thought.  "  That's  by  her  liking  you  too. 
She,  as  well,  is  prodigious.  You  see  what  interest 
in  a  man  does.  It  does  it  all  round.  So  you  needn't 
be  afraid." 

"  I'm  not  afraid,"  said  Densher. 

Kate  moved  from  her  place  then,  looking  at  the 
clock,  which  marked  five.  She  gave  her  attention 
to  the  tea-table,  where  Aunt  Maud's  huge  silver  ket 
tle,  which  had  been  exposed  to  its  lamp  and  which 
she  had  not  soon  enough  noticed,  was  hissing  too 
hard.  "  Well,  it's  all  most  wonderful !  "  she  ex 
claimed  as  she  rather  too  profusely — a  sign  her 
friend  noticed — ladled  tea  into  the  pot.  He  watched 
her  a  moment  at  this  occupation,  coming  nearer  the 
table  while  she  put  in  the  steaming  water.  '  You'll 
have  some?  " 

He  hesitated.     "  Hadn't  we  better  wait ?  " 

"  For  Aunt  Maud?  "  She  saw  what  he  meant — 
the  deprecation,  by  their  old  law,  of  betrayals  of  the 

358 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

intimate    note.      "  Oh,    you    needn't    mind    now. 
We've  done  it !  " 

"  Humbugged  her?  " 

"  Squared  her.     You've  pleased  her." 

Densher  mechanically  accepted  his  tea.  He  was 
thinking  of  something  else,  and  his  thought  in  a 
moment  came  out.  "  What  a  brute  then  I  must 
be!" 

«  A  brute ?  " 

"  To  have  pleased  so  many  people." 

"  Ah,"  said  Kate  with  a  gleam  of  gaiety,  "  you've 
done  it  to  please  me."  But  she  was  already,  with 
her  gleam,  reverting  a  little.  "  What  I  don't  under 
stand  is — won't  you  have  any  sugar?  " 

"  Yes,  please." 

"  What  I  don't  understand,"  she  went  on  when 
she  had  helped  him,  "  is  what  it  was  that  had  oc 
curred  to  bring  her  round  again.  If  she  gave  you 
up  for  days  and  days,  what  brought  her  back  to 
you?" 

She  asked  the  question  with  her  own  cup  in  her 
hand,  but  it  found  him  ready  enough,  in  spite  of  his 
sense  of  the  ironic  oddity  of  their  going  into  it  over 
the  tea-table.  "  It  was  Sir  Luke  Strett  who  brought 
her  back.  His  visit,  his  presence  there  did  it." 

"  He  brought  her  back  then  to  life." 

"  Well,  to  what  I  saw." 

"  And  by  interceding  for  you?  " 

"  I  don't  think  he  interceded.  I  don't  indeed 
know  what  he  did." 

359 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

Kate  wondered.     "  Didn't  he  tell  you?  " 

"  I  didn't  ask  him.  I  met  him  again,  but  we  prac 
tically  didn't  speak  of  her." 

Kate  stared.     "  Then  how  do  you  know?  " 

"  I  see.  I  feel.  I  was  with  him  again  as  I  had 
been  before " 

"  Oh,  and  you  pleased  him  too  ?  That  was 
it?" 

"  He  understood,"  said  Densher. 

"  But  understood  what?  " 

He  waited  a  moment.  "  That  I  had  meant  aw 
fully  well." 

"  Ah,  and  made  her  understand  ?  I  see,"  she  went 
on  as  he  said  nothing.  "  But  how  did  he  convince 
her?  " 

Densher  put  down  his  cup  and  turned  away. 
"  You  must  ask  Sir  Luke." 

He  stood  looking  at  the  fire,  and  there  was  a  time 
without  sound.  "  The  great  thing,"  Kate  then  re 
sumed,  "  is  that's  she's  satisfied.  Which,"  she  con 
tinued,  looking  across  at  him,  "  is  what  I've  worked 
for." 

"  Satisfied  to  die  in  the  flower  of  her  youth?  " 

"  Well,  at  peace  with  you/' 

"  Oh,  '  peace' !  "  he  murmured  with  his  eyes  on 
the  fire. 

"  The  peace  of  having  loved." 

He  raised  his  eyes  to  her.     "  Is  that  peace?  " 

"  Of  having  been  loved,"  she  went  on.  "  That  is. 
Of  having,"  she  wound  up,  "  realised  her  passion. 

360 


THE  WINGS    OF   THE  DOVE 

She  wanted  nothing  more.  She  has  had  all  she 
wanted." 

Lucid  and  always  grave,  she  gave  this  out  with  a 
beautiful  authority  that  he  could  for  the  time 
meet  with  no  words.  He  could  only  again  look  at 
her,  though  with  the  sense,  in  so  doing,  that  he  made 
her,  more  than  he  intended,  take  his  silence  for  as 
sent.  Quite  indeed  as  if  she  did  so  take  it  she  quitted 
the  table  and  came  to  the  fire.  "  You  may  think  it 
hideous  that  I  should  now,  that  I  should  yet " — she 
made  a  point  of  the  word — "  pretend  to  draw  con 
clusions.  But  we've  not  failed." 

*'  Oh !  "  he  only  again  murmured. 

She  was  once  more  close  to  him,  close  as  she  had 
been  the  day  she  came  to  him  in  Venice,  the 
quickly-returning  memory  of  which  intensified  and 
enriched  the  fact.  He  could  practically  deny  in 
such  conditions  nothing  that  she  said,  and  what  she 
said  was,  with  it,  visibly,  a  fruit  of  that  knowledge. 
"  We've  succeeded.'*  She  spoke  with  her  eyes  deep 
in  his  own.  "  She  won't  have  loved  you  for  noth 
ing."  It  made  him  wince,  but  she  insisted.  "  And 
you  won't  have  loved  me" 


XXXIV 

HE  was  to  remain  for  several  days  under  the  deep 
impression  of  this  inclusive  passage,  so  luckily  pro 
longed  from  moment  to  moment,  but  interrupted, 
at  its  climax,  as  may  be  said,  by  the  entrance  of  Aunt 
Maud,  who  found  them  standing  together  near  the 
fire.  The  bearings  of  the  colloquy,  however,  sharp 
as  they  were,  were  less  sharp  to  his  intelligence, 
strangely  enough,  than  those  of  a  talk  with  Mrs. 
Lowder  alone  for  which  she  soon  gave  him — or  for 
which  perhaps  rather  Kate  gave  him — full  occasion. 
What  had  happened  on  her  at  last  joining  them  was 
to  conduce,  he  could  immediately  see,  to  her  desir 
ing  to  have  him  to  herself.  Kate  and  he,  no  doubt, 
at  the  opening  of  the  door,  had  fallen  apart  with  a 
certain  suddenness,  so  that  she  had  turned  her  hard 
fine  eyes  from  one  to  the  other;  but  the  effect  of  this 
lost  itself,  to  his  mind,  the  next  minute,  in  the  effect 
of  his  companion's  rare  alertness.  She  instantly 
spoke  to  her  aunt  of  what  had  first  been  uppermost 
for  herself,  inviting  her  thereby  intimately  to  join 
them,  and  doing  it  the  more  happily  also,  no  doubt, 
because  the  fact  that  she  resentfully  named  gave  her 
ample  support.  "  Had  you  quite  understood,  my 
dear,  that  it's  full  three  weeks ?  "  And  she  ef 
faced  herself  as  if  to  leave  Mrs.  Lowder  to  deal  from 

362 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

her  own  point  of  view  with  this  extravagance.  Den- 
sher  of  course  straightway  noted  that  his  cue  for  the 
protection  of  Kate  was  to  make,  no  less,  all  of  it  he 
could;  and  their  tracks,  as  he  might  have  said,  were 
fairly  covered  by  the  time  their  hostess  had  taken 
afresh,  on  his  renewed  admission,  the  measure  of  his 
scant  eagerness.  Kate  had  moved  away  as  if  no 
great  showing  were  needed  for  her  personal  situa 
tion  to  be  seen  as  delicate.  She  had  been  entertain 
ing  their  visitor  on  her  aunt's  behalf — a  visitor  she 
had  been  at  one  time  suspected  of  favouring  too 
much  and  who  had  now  come  back  to  them  as  the 
stricken  suitor  of  another  person.  It  wasn't  that 
the  fate  of  the  other  person,  her  exquisite  friend, 
didn't,  in  its  tragic  turn,  also  concern  herself :  it  was 
only  that  her  acceptance  of  Mr.  Densher  as  a  source 
of  information  could  scarcely  help  having  an  awk 
wardness.  She  invented  the  awkwardness  under 
Densher's  eyes,  and  he  marvelled  on  his  side  at  the 
instant  creation.  It  served  her  as  the  fine  cloud  that 
hangs  about  a  goddess  in  an  epic,  and  the  young 
man  was  but  vaguely  to  know  at  what  point  of  the 
rest  of  his  visit  she  had,  for  consideration,  melted 
into  it  and  out  of  sight. 

He  was  taken  up  promptly  with  another  matter 
— the  truth  of  the  remarkable  difference,  neither 
more  nor  less,  than  the  events  of  Venice  had  intro 
duced  into  his  relation  with  Aunt  Maud  and  that 
these  weeks  of  their  separation  had  caused  quite 
richly  to  ripen  for  him.  She  had  not  sat  down  to 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

her  tea-table  before  he  felt  himself  on  terms  with  her 
that  were  absolutely  new,  nor  could  she  press  on  him 
a  second  cup  without  her  seeming  herself,  and  quite 
wittingly,  so  to  define  and  establish  them.  She  re 
gretted,  but  she  quite  understood,  that  what  was  tak 
ing  place  had  obliged  him  to  hang  off;  they  had — 
after  hearing  of  him  from  poor  Susan  as  gone — 
been  hoping  for  an  early  sight  of  him;  they  would 
have  been  interested,  naturally,  in  his  arriving 
straight  from  the  scene.  Yet  she  needed  no  re 
minder  that  the  scene  precisely — by  which  she  meant 
the  tragedy  that  had  so  detained  and  absorbed  him, 
the  memory,  the  shadow,  the  sorrow  of  it — was  what 
marked  him  for  unsociability.  She  thus  presented 
him  to  himself,  as  it  were,  in  the  guise  in  which  she 
had  now  adopted  him,  and  it  was  the  element  of 
truth  in  the  character  that  he  found  himself,  for  his 
own  part,  adopting.  She  treated  him  as  blighted 
and  ravaged,  as  frustrate  and  already  bereft;  and  for 
him  to  feel  that  this  opened  for  him  a  new  chapter 
of  frankness  with  her  he  scarce  had  also  to  perceive 
how  it  smoothed  his  approaches  to  Kate.  It  made 
the  latter  accessible  as  she  had  not  yet  begun  to  be; 
it  set  up  for  him  at  Lancaster  Gate  an  association 
positively  hostile  to  any  other  legend.  It  was  quick 
ly  vivid  to  him  that,  were  he  minded,  he  could 
"work"  this  association;  he  had  but  to  use  the 
house  freely  for  his  prescribed  attitude  and  he  need 
hardly  ever  be  out  of  it.  Stranger  than  anything 
moreover  was  to  be  the  way  that  by  the  end  of  a 

364 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

week  he  stood  convicted  to  his  own  sense  of  a  sur 
render  to  Mrs.  Lowder's  view.  He  had  somehow 
met  it  at  a  point  that  had  brought  him  on — brought 
him  on  a  distance  that  he  couldn't  again  re 
trace.  He  had  private  hours  of  wondering  what 
had  become  of  his  sincerity;  he  had  others  of  simply 
reflecting  that  he  had  it  all  in  use.  His  only  want 
of  candour  was  Aunt  Maud's  wealth  of  sentiment. 
She  was  hugely  sentimental,  and  the  worst  he  did 
was  to  take  it  from  her.  He  wasn't  so  himself — 
everything  was  too  real;  but  it  was  none  the  less 
not  false  that  he  had  been  through  a  mill. 

It  was  in  particular  not  false,  for  instance,  that 
when  she  had  said  to  him,  on  the  Sunday,  almost  cos 
ily,  from  her  sofa  behind  the  tea,  "  I  want  you  not  to 
doubt,  you  poor  dear,  that  I'm  with  you  to  the 
end !  "  his  meeting  her  half  way  had  been  the  only 
course  open  to  him.  She  was  with  him  to  the  end 
— or  she  might  be — in  a  way  Kate  wasn't;  and  even 
if  it  literally  made  her  society  meanwhile  more 
soothing,  he  must  just  brush  away  the  question  of 
why  it  shouldn't.  Was  he  professing  to  her  in  any 
degree  the  possession  of  an  aftersense  that  wasn't 
real?  How  in  the  world  could  he,  when  his  after- 
sense,  day  by  day,  was  his  greatest  reality?  That 
was  at  bottom  all  that  there  was  between  them, 
and  two  or  three  times  over  it  made  the  hour  pass. 
These  were  occasions — two  and  a  scrap — on  which 
he  had  come  and  gone  without  mention  of  Kate. 
Now  that,  almost  for  the  first  time,  he  was  free  to  ask 

365 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

for  her,  the  queer  turn  of  their  affair  made  it  a  false 
note.  It  was  another  queer  turn  that  when  he 
talked  with  Aunt  Maud  about  Milly  nothing  else 
seemed  to  come  up.  He  called  upon  her  almost 
avowedly  for  that  purpose,  and  it  was  the  queerest 
turn  of  all  that  the  state  of  his  nerves  should  require 
it.  He  liked  her  better;  he  was  really  behaving,  he 
had  occasion  to  say  to  himself,  as  if  he  liked  her  best. 
The  thing  was,  absolutely,  that  she  met  him  half 
way.  Nothing  could  have  been  broader  than  her 
vision,  than  her  loquacity,  than  her  sympathy.  It 
appeared  to  gratify,  to  satisfy  her  to  see  him  as  he 
was;  that  too  had  its  effect.  It  was  all  of  course  the 
last  thing  that  could  have  seemed  on  the  cards,  a 
change  by  which  he  was  completely  free  with  this 
lady;  and  it  wouldn't  indeed  have  come  about  if — 
for  another  monstrosity — he  hadn't  ceased  to  be  free 
with  Kate.  Thus  it  was  that,  on  the  third  time,  in 
especial,  of  being  alone  with  her,  he  found  himself 
uttering  to  the  elder  woman  what  had  been  impos 
sible  of  utterance  to  the  younger.  Mrs.  Lowder 
gave  him  in  fact,  in  respect  to  what  he  must  keep 
from  her,  but  one  uneasy  moment.  That  was  when, 
on  the  first  Sunday,  after  Kate  had  suppressed  her 
self,  she  referred  to  her  regret  that  he  mightn't  have 
stayed  to  the  end.  He  found  his  reason  difficult  to 
give  her,  but  she  came,  after  all,  to  his  help. 

"  You  simply  couldn't  stand  it?  " 

"  I  simply  couldn't  stand  it.     Besides  you  see 
But  he  paused. 

366 


THE    WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

"  Besides  what?"  He  had  been  going  to  say 
more — then  he  saw  dangers;  luckily,  however,  she 
had  again  assisted  him.  "  Besides — oh,  I  know ! — 
men  haven't,  in  many  relations,  the  courage  of 
women.'* 

"  They  haven't  the  courage  of  women." 

"  Kate  or  I  would  have  stayed,"  she  declared — 
"  if  we  hadn't  come  away  for  the  special  reason  that 
you  so  frankly  appreciated." 

Densher  had  said  nothing  about  his  appreciation : 
hadn't  his  behaviour  since  the  hour  itself  sufficiently 
shown  it?  But  he  presently  said — he  couldn't  help 
going  so  far :  "  I  don't  doubt,  certainly,  that  Miss 
Croy  would  have  stayed."  And  he  saw  again,  into 
the  bargain,  what  a  marvel  was  Susan  Shepherd. 
She  did  nothing  but  protect  him — she  had  done 
nothing  but  keep  it  up.  In  copious  communication 
with  the  friend  of  her  youth,  she  had  yet,  it  was 
plain,  favoured  this  lady  with  nothing  that  compro 
mised  him.  Milly's  act  of  renouncement  she  had 
described  but  as  a  change  for  the  worse;  she  had 
mentioned  Lord  Mark's  descent,  as  even  without  her 
it  might  be  known,  so  that  she  mustn't  appear  to 
conceal  it;  but  she  had  suppressed  explanations  and 
connections,  and  indeed,  for  all  he  knew,  blessed 
Puritan  soul,  had  invented  commendable  fictions. 
Thus  it  was  absolutely  that  he  was  at  his  ease.  Thus 
it  was  that,  shaking  for  ever,  in  the  unrest  that  didn't 
drop,  his  crossed  leg,  he  leaned  back  in  deep  yellow- 
satin  chairs  and  took  such  comfort  as  came.  She 

367 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

asked,  it  was  true,  Aunt  Maud,  questions  that  Kate 
hadn't;  but  this  was  just  the  difference,  that  from  her 
he  positively  liked  them.  He  had  taken  with  him 
self,  on  leaving  Venice,  the  resolution  to  regard 
Milly  as  already  dead  to  him — that  being,  for  his 
spirit,  the  only  thinkable  way  to  pass  the  time  of 
waiting.  He  had  left  her  because  it  was  what  suited 
her,  and  it  wasn't  for  him  to  go,  as  they  said  in  Amer 
ica,  behind  this;  which  imposed  on  him  but  the 
sharper  need  to  arrange  himself  with  his  interval. 
Suspense  was  the  ugliest  ache  to  him,  and  he  would 
have  nothing  to  do  with  it;  the  last  thing  he  wished 
was  to  be  unconscious  of  her — what  he  wished  to 
ignore  was  her  own  consciousness,  tortured,  for  all 
he  knew,  crucified  by  its  pain.  Knowingly  to  hang 
about  in  London  while  the  pain  went  on — what 
would  that  do  but  make  his  days  impossible?  His 
scheme  was  accordingly  to  convince  himself — and 
by  some  art  about  which  he  was  vague — that  the 
sense  of  waiting  had  passed.  "  What  in  fact,"  he 
restlessly  reflected.  "  have  I,  any  further,  to  do  with 
it?  Let  me  assume  the  thing  actually  over — as  it 
at  any  moment  may  be — and  I  become  good  again 
for  something  at  least  to  somebody.  I'm  good,  as 
it  is,  for  nothing  to  anybody,  least  of  all  to  her."  He 
consequently  tried,  so  far  as  shutting  his  eyes  and 
stalking  grimly  about  was  a  trial;  but  his  plan  was 
carried  out,  it  may  well  be  guessed,  neither  with 
marked  success  nor  with  marked  consistency.  The 
days,  whether  lapsing  or  lingering,  were  a  stiff  real- 

368 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

ity;  the  suppression  of  anxiety  was  a  thin  idea;  the 
taste  of  life  itself  was  the  taste  of  suspense.  That  he 
was  waiting  was  in  short  at  the  bottom  of  every 
thing;  and  it  required  no  great  sifting  presently  to 
feel  that,  if  he  took  so  much  more,  as  he  called  it  to 
Mrs.  Lowder,  this  was  just  for  that  reason. 

She  helped  him  to  hold  out,  all  the  while  that  she 
was  subtle  enough — and  he  could  see  her  divine  it 
as  what  he  wanted — not  to  insist  on  the  actuality  of 
their  tension.  His  nearest  approach  to  success  was 
thus  in  being  good  for  something  to  Aunt  Maud,  in 
default  of  any  one  better;  her  company  eased  his 
nerves  even  while  they  pretended  together  that  they 
had  seen  their  tragedy  out.  They  spoke  of  the  dying 
girl  in  the  past  tense;  they  said  no  worse  of  her  than 
that  she  had  been  stupendous.  On  the  other  hand, 
however — and  this  was  what  wasn't,  for  Densher, 
pure  peace — they  insisted  enough  that  stupendous 
was  the  word.  It  was  the  thing,  this  recognition, 
that  kept  him  most  quiet;  he  came  to  it  with  her 
repeatedly;  talking  about  it  against  time  and,  in  par 
ticular,  we  have  noted,  speaking  of  his  supreme  per 
sonal  impression  as  he  had  not  spoken  to  Kate.  It 
was  almost  as  if  she  herself  enjoyed  the  perfection  of 
the  pathos;  she  sat  there  before  the  scene,  as  he 
couldn't  help  giving  it  out  to  her,  very  much  as  a 
stout  citizen's  wife  might  have  sat,  during  a  play 
that  made  people  cry,  in  the  pit  or  the  family-circle. 
What  most  deeply  stirred  her  was  the  way  the  poor 
girl  must  have  wanted  to  live. 

VOL.  II.— 34  369 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

"  Ah,  yes  indeed — she  did,  she  did :  why  in  pity 
shouldn't  she,  with  everything  to  fill  her  world?  The 
mere  money  of  her,  the  darling,  if  it  isn't  too  disgust 
ing  at  such  a  time  to  mention  that !  " 

Aunt  Maud  mentioned  it — and  Densher  quite  un 
derstood — but  as  fairly  giving  poetry  to  the  life 
Milly  clung  to :  a  view  of  the  "  might  have  been  " 
before  which  the  good  lady  was  hushed  anew  to 
tears.  She  had  had  her  own  vision  of  these  possi 
bilities,  and  her  own  social  use  for  them,  and  since 
Milly's  spirit  had  been  after  all  so  at  one  with  her 
about  them,  what  was  the  cruelty  of  the  event  but  a 
cruelty,  of  a  sort,  to  herself?  That  came  out  when 
he  named,  as  the  horrible  thing  to  know,  the  fact  of 
their  young  friend's  unapproachable  terror  of  the 
end,  keep  it  down  though  she  would;  coming  out 
therefore  often,  since  in  so  naming  it  he  found  the 
strangest  of  reliefs.  He  allowed  it  all  its  vividness, 
as  if  on  the  principle  of  his  not  at  least  spiritually 
shirking.  Milly  had  held  with  passion  to  her  dream 
of  a  future,  and  she  was  separated  from  it,  not  shriek 
ing  indeed,  but  grimly,  awfully  silent,  as  one  might 
imagine  some  noble  young  victim  of  the  scaffold,  in 
the  French  Revolution,  separated,  in  the  prison-cell, 
from  some  object  clutched  for  resistance.  Densher, 
in  a  cold  moment,  so  pictured  the  case  for  Mrs.  Low- 
der,  but  no  moment  cold  enough  had  yet  come  to 
make  him  so  picture  it  to  Kate.  And  it  was  the 
front  so  presented  that  had  been,  in  Milly,  heroic; 
presented  with  the  highest  heroism,  Aunt  Maud 


THE  WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

by  this  time  knew,  on  the  occasion  of  his  taking  leave 
of  her.  He  had  let  her  know,  absolutely  for  the 
girl's  glory,  how  he  had  been  received  on  that  occa 
sion  with  a  positive  effect — since  she  was  indeed  so 
perfectly  the  princess  that  Mrs.  Stringham  always 
called  her — of  princely  state. 

Before  the  fire  in  the  great  room  that  was  all 
arabesques  and  cherubs,  all  gaiety  and  gilt,  and  that 
was  warm  at  that  hour  too  with  a  wealth  of  autumn 
sun,  the  state  in  question  had  been  maintained  and 
the  situation — well,  Densher  said  for  the  conven 
ience  of  exquisite  London  gossip,  sublime.  The 
gossip — for  it  came  to  as  much  at  Lancaster  Gate — 
was  not  the  less  exquisite  for  his  use  of  the  silver 
veil,  nor,  on  the  other  hand,  was  the  veil,  so  touched, 
too  much  drawn  aside.  He  himself,  for  that  matter, 
at  moments,  took  in  the  scene  again  as  from  the 
page  of  a  book.  He  saw  a  young  man,  far  off,  in  a 
relation  inconceivable,  saw  him  hushed,  passive, 
staying  his  breath,  but  half  understanding,  yet  dimly 
conscious  of  something  immense  and  holding  him 
self,  not  to  lose  it,  painfully  together.  The  young 
man,  at  these  moments,  so  seen,  was  too  distant  and 
too  strange  for  the  right  identity;  and  yet  outside, 
afterwards,  it  was  his  own  face  Densher  had  known. 
He  had  known  then,  at  the  same  time,  of  what  the 
young  man  had  been  conscious,  and  he  was  to  meas 
ure,  after  that,  day  by  day,  how  little  he  had  lost.  At 
present  there,  with  Mrs.  Lowder,  he  knew  he  had 
gathered  all:  that  passed  between  them  mutely  as, 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

in  the  intervals  of  their  associated  gaze,  they  ex 
changed  looks  of  intelligence.  This  was  as  far  as 
association  could  go;  but  it  was  far  enough  when 
she  knew  the  essence.  The  essence  was  that  some 
thing  had  happened  to  him  too  beautiful  and  too 
sacred  to  describe.  He  had  been,  to  his  recovered 
sense,  forgiven,  dedicated,  blessed;  but  this  he 
couldn't  coherently  express.  It  would  have  re 
quired  an  explanation — fatal  to  Mrs.  Lowder's  faith 
in  him — of  the  nature  of  Milly's  wrong.  So,  as  to 
the  wonderful  scene,  they  just  stood  at  the  door. 
They  had  the  sense  of  the  presence  within — they 
felt  the  charged  stillness;  after  which,  with  their 
association  deepened  by  it,  they  turned  together 
away. 

That  itself  indeed,  for  our  restless  friend,  became 
by  the  end  of  a  week  the  very  principle  of  reaction : 
so  that  he  woke  up  one  morning  with  such  a  sense 
of  having  played  a  part  as  he  needed,  for  self-respect, 
to  gainsay.  He  had  not  in  the  least  stated  at  Lan 
caster  Gate  that,  as  a  haunted  man — a  man  haunted 
with  a  memory — he  was  harmless;  but  the  degree  to 
which  Mrs.  Lowder  accepted,  admired  and  explained 
his  new  aspect  laid  upon  him  practically  the  weight 
of  a  declaration.  What  he  hadn't  in  the  least  stated 
her  own  manner  was  perpetually  stating;  it  was  as 
haunted  and  harmless  that  she  was  constantly  put 
ting  him  down.  There  offered  itself,  however,  to 
his  purpose,  such  an  element  as  plain  honesty,  and 
he  had  embraced,  by  the  time  he  dressed,  his  proper 

372 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

p 

corrective.  They  were  on  the  edge  of  Christmas, 
but  Christmas  this  year  was,  as,  in  London,  in  so 
many  other  years,  disconcertingly  mild;  the  still  air 
was  soft,  the  thick  light  was  grey,  the  great  town 
looked  empty,  and  in  the  Park,  where  the  grass  was 
green,  where  the  sheep  browsed,  where  the  birds 
multitudinously  twittered,  the  straight  walks  lent 
themselves  to  slowness  and  the  dim  vistas  to  pri 
vacy.  He  held  it  fast  this  morning  till  he  had  got 
out,  his  sacrifice  to  honour,  and  then  went  with  it 
to  the  nearest  post-office  and  fixed  it  fast  in  a  tele 
gram;  thinking  of  it  moreover  as  a  sacrifice  only 
because  he  had,  for  reasons,  felt  it  as  an  effort.  Its 
character  of  effort  it  would  owe  to  Kate's  expected 
resistance,  not  less  probable  than  on  the  occasion  of 
past  appeals;  which  was  precisely  why  he — perhaps 
innocently — made  his  telegram  persuasive.  It  had, 
as  a  recall  of  tender  hours,  to  be,  for  the  young 
woman  at  the  counter,  a  trifle  cryptic;  but  there  was 
a  good  deal  of  it,  in  one  way  and  another,  represent 
ing  it  as  did  a  rich  impulse,  and  it  cost  him  a  couple 
of  shillings.  There  was  also  a  moment  later  on,  that 
day,  when,  in  the  Park,  as  he  measured  watch 
fully  one  of  their  old  alleys,  he  might  have  been  sup 
posed  by  a  cynical  critic  to  be  reckoning  his  chance 
of  getting  his  money  back.  He  was  waiting — but 
he  had  waited  of  old;  Lancaster  Gate  as  a  dan 
ger,  was  practically  at  hand — but  she  had  risked 
that  danger  before.  Besides,  it  was  smaller  now, 
with  the  queer  turn  of  their  affair;  in  spite  of 

373 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

which  indeed  he  was  graver  as  he  lingered  and 
looked  out. 

Kate  came  at  last  by  the  way  he  had  thought  least 
likely — came  as  if  she  had  started  from  the  Marble 
Arch;  but  her  advent  was  response — that  was  the 
great  matter;  response  marked  in  her  face  and 
agreeable  to  him,  even  after  Aunt  Maud's  responses, 
as  nothing  had  been  since  his  return  to  London.  She 
had  not,  it  was  true,  answered  his  wire,  and  he  had 
begun  to  fear,  as  she  was  late,  that  with  the  instinct 
of  what  he  might  be  again  intending  to  press  upon 
her,  she  had  decided — though  not  with  ease — to  de 
prive  him  of  his  chance.  He  would  have  of  course, 
she  knew,  other  chances,  but  she  perhaps  saw  this 
one  as  offering  her  special  danger.  That,  in  fact, 
Densher  could  himself  feel,  was  exactly  why  he  had 
so  prepared  it,  and  he  had  rejoiced,  even  while  he 
waited,  in  all  that  the  conditions  had  to  say  to  him 
of  their  simpler  and  better  time.  The  shortest  day 
of  the  year  though  it  might  be,  it  was,  in  the  same 
place,  by  a  whim  of  the  weather,  almost  as  much 
to  their  purpose  as  the  days  of  sunny  afternoons 
when  they  had  taken  their  first  trysts.  This  and 
that  tree,  within  sight,  on  the  grass,  stretched  bare 
boughs  over  the  couple  of  chairs  in  which  they  had 
sat  of  old  and  in  which — for  they  really  could  sit 
down  again — they  might  recover  the  clearness  of 
their  beginnings.  It  was  to  all  intents,  however, 
this  very  reference  that  showed  itself  in  Kate's  face 
as,  with  her  quick  walk,  she  came  toward  him.  It 

374 


THE   WINGS  OF   THE  DOVE 

helped  him,  her  quick  walk,  when  it  finally  brought 
her  nearer;  helped  him,  for  that  matter,  at  first,  if 
only  by  showing  him  afresh  how  terribly  well  she 
looked.  It  had  been  all  along,  he  certainly  remem 
bered,  a  phenomenon  of  no  rarity  that  he  had  felt 
her,  at  particular  moments,  handsomer  than  ever 
before;  one  of  these,  for  instance,  being  still  present 
to  him  as  her  entrance,  under  her  aunt's  eyes,  at  Lan 
caster  Gate,  the  day  of  his  dinner  there  after  his  re 
turn  from  America;  and  another  her  aspect,  on  the 
same  spot,  two  Sundays  ago — the  light  in  which  she 
struck  the  eyes  he  had  brought  back  from  Venice. 
In  the  course  of  a  minute  or  two  now  he  got,  as  he 
had  got  it  the  other  times,  his  impression  of  the  spe 
cial  stamp  of  the  fortune  of  the  moment. 

Whatever  it  had  been  determined  by  as  the  differ 
ent  hours  recurred  to  him,  it  took  on  at  present  a 
prompt  connection  with  an  effect  produced  for  him, 
in  truth,  more  than  once  during  the  past  week,  only 
now  much  intensified.  This  effect  he  had  already 
noted  and  named :  it  was  that  of  the  attitude  assumed 
by  his  friend  in  the  presence  of  the  degree  of  re 
sponse,  on  his  part,  to  Mrs.  Lowder's  welcome  which 
she  couldn't  possibly  have  failed  to  notice.  She  had 
noticed  it,  and  she  had  beautifully  shown  him  so; 
wearing  in  its  honour  the  finest  shade  of  studied  se 
renity,  a  shade  almost  of  gaiety  over  the  workings 
of  time.  Everything  of  course  was  relative,  with  the 
shadow  they  were  living  under;  but  her  condonation 
of  the  way  in  which  he  now,  for  confidence,  distin- 

375 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

guished  Aunt  Maud  had  almost  the  note  of  cheer. 
She  had  so  consecrated,  by  her  own  air,  the  distinc 
tion,  invidious  in  respect  to  herself  though  it  might 
be;  and  nothing,  really,  more  than  this  demonstra 
tion,  could  have  given  him,  had  he  still  wanted  it,  the 
measure  of  her  superiority.  It  was  doubtless,  for 
that  matter,  this  superiority  simply  that,  on  the  win 
ter  noon,  gave  smooth  decision  to  her  step 
and  charming  courage  to  her  eyes — a  courage  that 
deepened  in  them  when  he  had  got,  after  a  little,  to 
what  he  wanted.  He  had  delayed  after  she  had 
joined  him  not  much  more  than  long  enough  for 
him  to  say  to  her,  drawing  her  hand  into  his  arm  and 
turning  off  where  they  had  turned  of  old,  that  he 
wouldn't  pretend  he  hadn't  lately  had  moments  of 
not  quite  believing  he  should  ever  again  be  so  happy. 
She  answered,  passing  over  the  reasons,  whatever 
they  had  been,  of  his  doubt,  that  her  own  belief  was 
in  high  happiness  for  them  if  they  would  only  have 
patience;  though  nothing,  at  the  same  time,  could 
be  dearer  than  his  idea  for  their  walk.  It  was  only 
make-believe,  of  course,  with  what  had  taken  place 
for  them,  that  they  couldn't  meet  at  home;  she  spoke 
of  their  opportunities  as  suffering  at  no  point.  He 
had  at  any  rate  soon  let  her  know  that  he  wished  the 
present  one  to  suffer  at  none,  and  in  a  quiet  spot, 
beneath  a  great  wintry  tree,  he  let  his  entreaty  come 
sharp. 

"  We've  played  our  dreadful  game,  and  we've 
lost.     We  owe  it  to  ourselves,  we  owe  it  to  our  feel- 

376 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

ing  for  ourselves  and  for  each  other,  not  to  wait  an 
other  day.  Our  marriage  will — fundamentally, 
somehow,  don't  you  see? — right  everything  that's 
wrong,  and  I  can't  express  to  you  my  impatience. 
We've  only  to  announce  it — and  it  takes  off  the 
weight." 

"  To  '  announce  '  it?  "  Kate  asked.  She  spoke  as 
if  not  understanding,  though  she  had  listened  to 
him  without  confusion. 

"  To  accomplish  it  then — to-morrow  if  you  will; 
do  it  and  announce  it  as  done.  That's  the  least  part 
of  it — after  it  nothing  will  matter.  We  shall  be  so 
right,"  he  said,  "  that  we  shall  be  strong;  we  shall 
only  wonder  at  our  past  fear.  It  will  seem  an  ugly 
madness.  It  will  seem  a  bad  dream." 

She  looked  at  him  without  flinching — with  the 
look  she  had  brought  at  his  call;  but  he  felt  now  the 
strange  chill  of  her  brightness.  "  My  dear  man, 
what  has  happened  to  you?  " 

"  Well,  that  I  can  bear  it  no  longer.  Thai's  sim 
ply  what  has  happened.  Something  has  snapped, 
has  broken  in  me,  and  here  I  am.  It's  as  I  am  that 
you  must  have  me." 

He  saw  her  try,  for  a  time,  to  appear  to  consider 
it;  but  he  saw  her  also  not  consider  it.  Yet  he  saw 
her,  felt  her,  further — he  heard  her,  with  her  clear 
voice — try  to  be  intensely  kind  with  him.  "  I  don't 
see,  you  know,  what  has  changed."  She  had  a  large, 
strange  smile.  "  We've  been  going  on  together  so 
well,  and  you  suddenly  desert  me?  " 

377 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

It  made  him  helplessly  gaze.  :'  You  call  it  so 
'  well '?  You've  touches,  upon  my  soul !  " 

"  I  call  it  perfect — from  my  original  point  of  view. 
I'm  just  where  I  was;  and  you  must  give  me  some 
better  reason  than  you  do,  my  dear,  for  your  not  be 
ing.  It  seems  to  me,"  she  continued,  "  that  we're 
only  right,  as  to  what  has  been  between  us,  so  long 
as  we  do  wait.  I  don't  think  we  wish  to  have  be 
haved  like  fools."  He  took  in,  while  she  talked,  her 
imperturbable  consistency;  which  it  was  quietly, 
queerly  hopeless  to  see  her  stand  there  and  breathe 
into  their  mild,  remembering  air.  He  had  brought 
her  there  to  be  moved,  and  she  was  only  immovable 
— which  was  not  moreover,  either,  because  she 
didn't  understand.  She  understood  everything — 
and  things  he  wouldn't;  and  she  had  reasons,  deep 
down,  the  sense  of  which  nearly  sickened  him.  She 
had  too  again,  most  of  all,  her  strange,  significant 
smile.  "  Of  course,  if  it  is  that  you  really  know 

something ?  "     It  was  quite  conceivable  and 

possible  to  her,  he  could  see,  that  he  did.  But  he 
didn't  even  know  what  she  meant,  and  he  only 
looked  at  her  in  gloom.  His  gloom,  however, 
didn't  upset  her.  "  You  do,  I  believe,  only  you've 
a  delicacy  about  saying  it.  Your  delicacy  to  me, 
my  dear,  is  a  scruple  too  much.  I  should  have  no 
delicacy  in  hearing  it,  so  that  if  you  can  tell  me  you 
know " 

"  Well?  "  he  asked  as  she  still  kept  what  depended 
on  it. 

378 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

"  Why  then,  I'll  do  what  you  want.  We  needn't, 
I  grant  you,  in  that  case  wait;  and  I  can  see  what  you 
mean  by  thinking  it  nicer  of  us  not  to.  I  don't  even 
ask  you,"  she  continued,  "  for  a  proof.  I'm  content 
with  your  moral  certainty." 

By  this  time  it  had  come  over  him — it  had  the 
force  of  a  rush.  The  point  she  made  was  clear,  as 
clear,  as  that  the  blood,  while  he  recognised  it,  man 
tled  in  his  face.  "  I  know  nothing  whatever." 

"  You've  not  an  idea?  " 

"  I've  not  an  idea." 

"  I'd  consent,"  she  said — "  I'd  announce  it  to 
morrow,  to-day,  I'd  go  home  this  moment  and  an 
nounce  it  to  Aunt  Maud,  for  an  idea :  I  mean  an  idea 
straight  from  you,  I  mean  as  your  own,  given  me  in 
good  faith.  There,  my  dear !  " — and  she  smiled 
again.  "  I  call  that  really  meeting  you." 

If  it  zvas  then  what  she  called  it,  it  disposed  of  his 
appeal,  and  he  could  but  stand  there  with  his  wasted 
passion — for  it  was  in  high  passion  that  he  had, 
from  the  morning,  acted — in  his  face.  She  made  it 
all  out,  bent  upon  her,  the  idea  he  didn't  have,  and 
the  idea  he  had,  and  his  failure  of  insistence  when  it 
brought  up  that  challenge,  and  his  sense  of  her  per 
sonal  presence,  and  his  horror,  almost,  of  her  lucid 
ity.  They  made  in  him  a  mixture  that  might  have 
been  rage,  but  that  was  turning  quickly  to  mere  cold 
thought,  thought  which  led  to  something  else  and 
was  like  a  new  dim  dawn.  It  affected  her  then,  and 
she  had  one  of  the  impulses,  in  all  sincerity,  that  had 

379 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

before  this,  between  them,  saved  their  position. 
When  she  had  come  nearer  to  him,  when,  putting 
her  hand  upon  him  and  making  him  sink  with  her,  as 
she  leaned  to  him,  into  their  old  pair  of  chairs,  she 
prevented,  irresistibly,  the  waste  of  his  passion.  She 
had  an  advantage  with  his  passion  now. 


380 


XXXV 

HE  had  said  to  her  in  the  Park,  when  challenged  on 
it,  that  nothing  had  "  happened  "  to  him  as  a  cause 
for  the  demand  he  there  made  of  her — happened,  he 
meant,  since  the  account  he  had  given,  after  his  re 
turn,  of  his  recent  experience.  But  in  the  course  of 
a  few  days — they  had  brought  him  to  Christmas 
morning — he  was  conscious  enough,  in  preparing 
again  to  seek  her  out,  of  a  difference  on  that  score. 
Something  had  in  this  case  happened  to  him,  and, 
after  his  taking  the  night  to  think  of  it,  he  felt  that 
what  it  most,  if  not  absolutely  first,  involved  was  his 
immediately  again  putting  himself  in  relation  with 
her.  The  fact  itself  had  met  him  there — in  his  own 
small  quarters — on  Christmas  eve,  and  had  not  then 
indeed  instantly  affected  him  as  implying  that  conse 
quence.  So  far  as  he  on  the  spot  and  for  the  next 
hours  took  its  measure — a  process  that  made  his 
night  mercilessly  wakeful — the  consequences  possi 
bly  implied  were  numerous  to  distraction.  His 
spirit  dealt  with  them,  in  the  darkness,  as  the  slow 
hours  passed;  his  intelligence  and  his  imagination, 
his  soul  and  his  sense  had  never,  on  the  whole,  been 
so  intensely  engaged.  It  was  his  difficulty  for  the 
moment  that  he  was  face  to  face  with  alternatives, 
and  that  it  was  scarce  even  a  question  of  turning 

381 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

from  one  to  the  other.  They  were  not  in  a  perspec 
tive  in  which  they  might  be  compared  and  consid 
ered;  they  were,  by  a  strange  effect,  as  close  as  a  pair 
of  monsters  of  whom  he  might  have  felt  on  either 
cheek  the  hot  breath  and  the  huge  eyes.  He  saw 
them  at  once  and  but  by  looking  straight  before 
him;  he  wouldn't,  for  that  matter,  in  his  cold  appre 
hension,  have  turned  his  head  by  an  inch.  So  it  was 
that  his  agitation  was  still — was  not,  for  the  slow 
hours,  a  matter  of  restless  motion.  He  lay  long, 
after  the  event,  on  the  sofa  on  which,  extinguishing 
at  a  touch  the  white  light  of  convenience  that  he 
hated,  he  had  thrown  himself  without  undressing. 
He  stared  at  the  buried  day  and  wore  out  the  time; 
with  the  arrival  of  the  Christmas  dawn,  moreover, 
late  and  grey,  he  felt  himself  somehow  determined. 
The  common  wisdom  had  had  its  say  to  him — that 
safety,  in  doubt,  was  not  action;  and  perhaps  what 
most  helped  him  was  this  very  commonness.  In 
his  case  there  was  nothing  of  that — in  no  case  in  his 
life  had  there  ever  been  less :  which  association,  from 
one  thing  to  another,  now  worked  for  him  as  a 
choice.  He  acted,  after  his  bath  and  his  breakfast, 
in  the  sense  of  that  marked  element  of  the  rare 
which  he  felt  to  be  the  sign  of  his  crisis.  And  that  is 
why,  dressed  with  more  state  than  usual  and  quite  as 
if  for  church,  he  went  out  into  the  soft  Christmas 
day. 

Action,  for  him,  on  coming  to  the  point,  it  ap 
peared,  carried  with  it  a  certain  complexity.     We 

382 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

should  have  known,  walking  by  his  side,  that  his 
final  prime  decision  had  not  been  to  call  at  the  door 
of  Sir  Luke  Strett,  and  yet  that  this  step,  though  sub 
ordinate,  was  none  the  less  urgent.  His  prime  de 
cision  was  for  another  matter,  to  which  impatience, 
once  he  was  on  the  way,  had  now  added  itself;  but 
he  remained  sufficiently  aware  that  he  must  compro 
mise  with  the  perhaps  excessive  earliness.  This,  and 
the  ferment  set  up  within  him,  were,  together,  a  rea 
son  for  not  driving;  to  say  nothing  of  the  absence 
of  cabs  in  the  dusky  festal  desert.  Sir  Luke's  great 
square  was  not  near,  but  he  walked  the  distance 
without  seeing  a  hansom.  He  had  his  interval  thus 
to  turn  over  his  view — the  view  to  which  what  had 
happened  the  night  before  had  now  sharply  reduced 
itself;  but  the  complexity  just  mentioned  was  to  be 
offered,  within  the  next  few  minutes,  another  item  to 
assimilate.  Before  Sir  Luke's  house,  when  he 
reached  it,  a  brougham  was  drawn  up — at  the  sight 
of  which  his  heart  had  a  lift  that  brought  him,  for  the 
instant,  to  a  stand.  This  pause  was  not  long,  but 
it  was  long  enough  to  flash  upon  him  a  revelation  in 
the  light  of  which  he  caught  his  breath.  The  car 
riage,  so  possibly  at  such  an  hour  and  on  such  a  day 
Sir  Luke's  own,  had  struck  him  as  a  sign  that  the 
great  doctor  was  back.  This  would  prove  something 
else,  in  turn,  still  more  intensely,  and  it  was  in  the  act 
of  the  double  apprehension  that  Densher  felt  him 
self  turn  pale.  His  mind  rebounded  for  the  moment 
like  a  projectile  that  has  suddenly  been  met  by  an- 

383 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

other:  he  stared  at  the  strange  truth  that  what  he 
wanted  more  than  to  see  Kate  Croy  was  to  see  the 
witness  who  had  just  arrived  from  Venice.  He 
wanted  positively  to  be  in  his  presence  and  to  hear 
his  voice — which  was  the  spasm  of  his  consciousness 
that  produced  the  flash.  Fortunately  for  him,  on 
the  spot,  there  supervened  something  in  which  the 
flash  went  out.  He  became  aware  within  this  min 
ute  that  the  coachman  on  the  box  of  the  brougham 
had  a  face  kno\vn  to  him,  whereas  he  had  never  seen 
before,  to  his  knowledge,  the  great  doctor's  car 
riage.  The  carriage,  as  he  came  nearer,  was  simply 
Mrs.  Lowder's;  the  face  on  the  box  was  just  the  face 
that,  in  coming  and  going  at  Lancaster  Gate,  he 
would  vaguely  have  noticed,  outside,  in  attendance. 
With  this  the  rest  came :  the  lady  of  Lancaster  Gate 
had,  on  a  prompting  not  wholly  remote  from  his 
own,  presented  herself  for  news;  and  news,  in  the 
house,  she  was  clearly  getting,  since  her  brougham 
had  stayed.  Sir  Luke  was  then  back — only  Mrs. 
Lowder  was  with  him. 

It  was  under  the  influence  of  this  last  reflection 
that  Densher  again  delayed;  and  it  was  while  he  de 
layed  that  something  else  occurred  to  him.  It  was 
all  round,  visibly — given  his  own  new  contribution 
— a  case  of  pressure;  and  in  a  case  of  pressure  Kate, 
for  quicker  knowledge,  might  have  come  out  with 
her  aunt.  The  possibility  that  in  this  event  she 
might  be  sitting  in  the  carriage — the  thing  most 
likely — had  had  the  effect,  before  he  could  check  it, 

384 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

of  bringing  him  within  range  of  the  window.  It 
wasn't  there  he  had  wished  to  see  her;  yet  if  she  was 
there  he  couldn't  pretend  not  to.  What  he  had, 
however,  the  next  moment  made  out  was  that  if 
some  one  was  there  it  wasn't  Kate  Croy.  It  was, 
with  a  sensible  shock  from  him,  the  person  who  had 
last  offered  him  a  conscious  face  from  behind  the 
clear  plate  of  a  cafe  in  Venice.  The  great  glass  at 
Florian's  was  a  medium  less  obscure,  even  with  the 
window  down,  than  the  air  of  the  London  Christ 
mas;  yet  at  present  also,  none  the  less,  between  the 
two  men,  an  exchange  of  recognitions  could  occur. 
Densher  felt  his  own  look  a  gaping  arrest — -which, 
he  disgustedly  remembered,  his  back  as  quickly 
turned,  appeared  to  repeat  itself  as  his  special  privi 
lege.  He  mounted  the  steps  of  the  house  and 
touched  the  bell  with  a  keen  consciousness  of  being 
habitually  looked  at  by  Kate's  friend  from  positions 
of  almost  insolent  vantage.  He  forgot,  for  the  time, 
the  moment  when,  in  Venice,  at  the  palace,  the  en 
couraged  young  man  had  in  a  manner  assisted  at  the 
departure  of  the  disconcerted,  since  Lord  Mark  was 
not  looking  disconcerted  now  any  more  than  he  had 
looked  from  his  bench  at  his  cafe.  Densher  was 
thinking  that  he  seemed  to  show  as  vagrant  while 
another  was  ensconced.  He  was  thinking  of  the 
other  as— in  spite  of  the  difference  of  situation — 
more  ensconced  than  ever;  he  was  thinking  of  him 
above  all  as  the  friend  of  the  person  with  whom  his 
recognition  had,  the  minute  previous,  associate4 
VOL.  IL— ^  285 


THE  WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

him.  The  man  was  seated  in  the  very  place  in 
which,  beside  Mrs.  Lowder's,  he  had  looked  to  find 
Kate,  and  that  was  a  sufficient  identity.  Mean 
while,  at  any  rate,  the  door  of  the  house  had  opened 
and  Mrs.  Lowder  stood  before  him.  It  was  some 
thing  at  least  that  she  wasn't  Kate.  She  was  herself, 
on  the  spot,  in  all  her  affluence;  with  presence  of 
mind  both  to  decide  at  once  that  Lord  Mark,  in  the 
brougham,  didn't  matter  and  to  prevent  Sir  Luke's 
butler,  by  a  firm  word  thrown  over  her  shoulder, 
from  standing  there  to  listen  to  her  passage  with  the 
gentleman  who  had  rung.  "  /'//  tell  Mr.  Densher; 
you  needn't  wait !  "  And  the  passage,  promptly 
and  richly,  took  place  on  the  steps. 

"  He  arrives,  travelling  straight,  to-morrow  early. 
I  could  not  come  to  learn." 

"  No  more,"  said  Densher  simply,  "  could  I.  On 
my  way,"  he  added,  "  to  Lancaster  Gate." 

"  Sweet  of  you."  She  beamed  on  him  dimly, 
and  he  saw  her  face  was  attuned.  It  made  him, 
with  what  she  had  just  before  said,  know  all,  and 
he  took  the  thing  in  while  he  met  the  air  of  por 
tentous,  of  almost  functional,  sympathy  that  had 
settled  itself  as  her  medium  with  him  and  that  yet 
had  now  a  fresh  glow.  "  So  you  have  had  your 
message?  " 

He  knew  so  well  what  she  meant,  and  so  equally 
with  it  what  he  "  had  had,"  no  less  than  what  he 
hadn't,  that,  with  but  the  smallest  hesitation,  he 
strained  the  point.  "  Yes — my  message." 

386 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

"  Our  dear  dove  then,  as  Kate  calls  her,  has  folded 
her  wonderful  wings." 

"  Yes— folded  them." 

It  rather  racked  him,  but  he  tried  to  receive  it  as 
she  intended,  and  she  evidently  took  his  formal  as 
sent  for  self-control.  "  Unless  it's  more  true,"  she 
accordingly  added,  "  that  she  has  spread  them  the 
wider." 

He  again  but  formally  assented,  though,  strangely 
enough,  the  words  fitted  an  image  deep  in  his  own 
consciousness.  "  Rather,  yes — spread  them  the 
wider." 

"  For  a  flight,  I  trust,  to  some  happiness  great 
er " 

"  Exactly.  Greater,"  Densher  broke  in;  but  now 
with  a  look,  he  feared,  that  did,  a  little,  warn  her  off. 

"  You  were  certainly,"  she  went  on  with  more  re 
serve,  "  entitled  to  direct  news.  Ours  came,  last 
night,  late :  I'm  not  sure,  otherwise,  I  shouldn't  have 
gone  to  you.  But  you're  coming,"  she  asked,  "  to 
mef" 

He  had  had  a  minute,  by  this  time,  to  think  fur 
ther;  and  the  window  of  the  brougham  was  still  with 
in  range.  Her  rich  "  me,"  reaching  him,  moreover, 
through  the  mild  damp,  had  the  effect  of  a  thump  on 
his  chest.  "  Squared,"  Aunt  Maud?  She  was  in 
deed  squared,  and  the  extent  of  it,  just  now,  per 
versely  enough,  took  away  his  breath.  His  look, 
from  where  they  stood,  embraced  the  aperture  at 
which  the  person  sitting  in  the  carriage  might  have 

38? 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

shown,  and  he  saw  his  interlocutress,  on  her  side, 
understand  the  question  in  it,  which  he  moreover 
then  uttered.  "  Shall  you  be  alone?"  It  was,  as 
an  immediate  instinctive  parley  with  the  image  of  his 
condition  that  now  flourished  in  her,  almost  hypo 
critical.  It  sounded  as  if  he  wished  to  come  and 
overflow  to  her,  yet  this  was  exactly  what  he  didn't. 
The  need  to  overflow  had  suddenly — since  the  night 
before — dried  up  in  him,  and  he  had  never  been  con 
scious  of  a  deeper  reserve. 

But  she  had  meanwhile  largely  responded. 
"  Completely  alone.  I  should  otherwise  never  have 
dreamed ;  feeling,  dear  friend,  but  too  much !  " 
What  she  felt,  failing  on  her  lips,  came  out  for  him  in 
the  offered  hand  with  which,  the  next  moment,  she 
had  condolingly  pressed  his  own.  "  Dear  friend, 
dear  friend !  " — she  was  deeply  "  with  "  him,  and 
she  wished  to  be  still  more  so :  which  was  what  made 
her  immediately  continue.  "  Or  wouldn't  you,  this 
evening,  for  the  sad  Christmas  it  makes  us,  dine  with 
me  tete-a-tete?  " 

It  put  the  thing  off,  the  question  of  a  talk  with  her 
— making  the  difference,  to  his  relief,  of  several 
hours ;  but  it  also  rather  mystified  him.  This,  how 
ever,  didn't  diminish  his  need  of  caution.  "  Shall 
you  mind  if  I  don't  tell  you  at  once?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least — leave  it  open :  it  shall  be  as  you 
may  feel,  and  you  needn't  even  send  me  word.  I 
only  will  mention  that  to-day,  of  all  days,  I  shall 
otherwise  sit  there  alone." 

388 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

Now  at  least  he  could  ask.  "  Without  Miss 
Croy?" 

"  Without  Miss  Croy.  Miss  Croy,"  said  Mrs. 
Lowder,  "  is  spending  her  Christmas  in  the  bosom  of 
her  more  immediate  family." 

-  He  was  afraid,  even  while  he  spoke,  of  what  his 
face  might  show.     "  You  mean  she  has  left  you  ?  " 

Aunt  Maud's  own  face,  for  that  matter,  met  the 
inquiry  with  a  consciousness  in  which  he  saw  a  re 
flection  of  events.  He  perceived  from  it,  even  at 
the  moment  and  as  he  had  never  done  before,  that, 
since  he  had  known  these  two  women,  no  confessed 
nor  commented  tension,  no  crisis  of  the  cruder  sort, 
would  really  have  taken  form  between  them :  which 
was  precisely  a  high  proof  of  how  Kate  had  steered 
her  boat.  The  situation  exposed  in  Mrs.  Lowder's 
present  expression  lighted  up  by  contrast  that  super 
ficial  smoothness ;  which  afterwards,  with  his  time  to 
think  of  it,  was  to  put  before  him  again  the  art,  the 
particular  gift,  in  the  girl,  now  so  placed  and  classed, 
so  intimately  familiar  for  him,  as  her  talent  for  life. 
The  peace,  clearly,  within  a  day  or  two — since  his 
seeing  her  last — had  been  broken;  differences,  deep 
down,  kept  there  by  a  diplomacy,  on  Kate's  part,  as 
deep,  had  been  shaken  to  the  surface  by  some  excep 
tional  jar;  with  which,  in  addition,  he  felt  Lord 
Mark's  odd  attendance  at  such  an  hour  and  season 
vaguely  associated.  The  talent  for  life  indeed,  it  at 
the  same  time  struck  him,  would  probably  have 
shown  equally  in  the  breach,  or  whatever  had  oc- 

389 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

curred;  Aunt  Maud  having  suffered,  he  judged,  a 
strain  rather  than  a  stroke.  With  these  quick 
thoughts,  at  all  events,  that  lady  was  already  abreast. 
"  She  went  yesterday  morning — and  not  with  my 
approval,  I  don't  mind  telling  you — to  her  sister: 
Mrs.  Condrip,  if  you  know  who  I  mean,  who  lives 
somewhere  in  Chelsea.  My  other  niece  and  her  af 
fairs — that  I  should  have  to  say  such  things  to-day ! 
— are  a  constant  worry;  so  that  Kate,  in  conse 
quence — well,  of  events ! — has  simply  been  called  in. 
My  own  idea,  I'm  bound  to  say,  was  that  with  such 
events  she  need  have,  in  her  situation,  next  to  noth 
ing  to  do." 

"  But  she  differed  with  you  ?  " 

"  She  differed  with  me.  And  when  Kate  differs 
with  you !  " 

"  Oh,  I  can  imagine."  He  had  reached  the  point, 
in  the  matter  of  hypocrisy,  at  which  he  could  ask 
himself  why  a  little  more  or  less  should  signify.  Be 
sides,  with  the  intention  he  had  had,  he  must  know. 
Kate's  move,  if  he  didn't  know,  might  simply  discon 
cert  him ;  and  of  being  disconcerted  his  horror  was 
by  this  time  fairly  superstitious.  "  I  hope  you  don't 
allude  to  events  at  all  calamitous." 

"  No — only  horrid  and  vulgar." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Merton  Densher. 

Mrs.  Lowder's  soreness,  it  was  still  not  obscure, 
had  discovered  in  free  speech  to  him  a  momentary 
balm.  "  They've  the  misfortune  to  have,  I  suppose 
you  know,  a  dreadful,  horrible  father." 

390 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 


"  Oh !  "  said  Densher  again. 

"  He's  too  bad  almost  to  name,  but  he  has 
come  upon  Marian,  and  Marian  has  shrieked  for 
help." 

Densher  wondered,  at  this,  with  intensity ;  and  his 
curiosity  compromised  for  an  instant  with  his  dis 
cretion.  "  Come  upon  her — for  money?  " 

"  Oh,  for  that,  of  course,  always.  But,  at  this 
blessed  season,  for  refuge,  for  safety :  for  God  knows 
what.  He's  there,  the  brute.  And  Kate's  with 
them.  And  that,"  Mrs.  Lowder  wound  up,  going 
down  the  steps,  "  is  her  Christmas." 

She  had  stopped  again  at  the  bottom,  while  he 
thought  of  an  answer.  "  Yours  then  is  after  all 
rather  better." 

"  It's  at  least  more  decent."  And  her  hand,  once 
more,  came  out.  "  But  why  do  I  talk  of  our 
troubles  ?  Come  if  you  can." 

He  showed  a  faint  smile.     "  Thanks.     If  I  can." 

"  And  now — I  dare  say — you'll  go  to  church  ?  " 

She  had  asked  it,  with  her  good  intention,  rather 
in  the  air  and  by  way  of  sketching  for  him,  in  the  line 
of  support,  something  a  little  more  to  the  purpose 
than  what  she  had  been  giving  him.  He  felt  it  as 
finishing  off  their  intensities  of  expression  that  he 
found  himself,  to  all  appearance,  receiving  her  hint 
as  happy.  "  Why,  yes — I  think  I  will  "  :  after 
which,  as  the  door  of  the  brougham,  at  her  approach, 
had  opened  from  within,  he  was  free  to  turn  his  back. 
He  heard  the  door,  behind  him,  sharply  close  again 

391 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

and  the  vehicle  move  off  in  another  direction  than 
his  own. 

He  had  in  fact,  for  the  time,  no  direction;  in  spite 
of  which  indeed,  at  the  end  of  ten  minutes,  he  was 
aware  of  having  walked  straight  to  the  south.  That, 
he  afterwards  recognised,  was,  very  sufficiently,  be 
cause  there  had  formed  itself  in  his  mind,  even  while 
Aunt  Maud  finally  talked,  an  instant  recognition  of 
his  necessary  course.  Nothing  was  open  to  him  but 
to  follow  Kate,  nor  was  anything  more  marked  than 
the  influence  of  the  step  she  had  taken  on  the  emo 
tion  itself  that  possessed  him.  Her  complications, 
which  had  fairly,  with  everything  else,  an  awful 
sound — what  were  they,  a  thousand  times  over,  but 
his  own?  His  present  business  was  to  see  that  they 
didn't  escape  an  hour  longer  taking  their  proper 
place  in  his  life.  He  accordingly  would  have  held 
his  course  had  it  not  suddenly  come  over  him  that  he 
had  just  lied  to  Mrs.  Lowder — a  term  it  perversely 
eased  him  to  keep  using — even  more  than  was  neces 
sary.  To  what  church  was  he  going,  to  what 
church,  in  such  a  state  of  his  nerves,  could  he  go? — 
he  pulled  up  short  again,  as  he  had  pulled  up  in  sight 
of  Mrs.  Lowder's  carriage,  to  ask  it.  And  yet  the 
desire  queerly  stirred  in  him  not  to  have  wasted  his 
word.  He  was  just  then,  however,  by  a  happy 
chance,  in  the  Brompton  Road,  and  he  bethought 
himself,  with  a  sudden  light,  that  the  Oratory  was  at 
hand.  He  had  but  to  turn  the  other  way  and  he 
should  find  himself  soon  before  it.  At  the  door  then, 

392 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

in  a  few  minutes,  his  idea  was  really — as  it  struck  him 
— consecrated :  he  was,  pushing  in,  on  the  edge  of  a 
splendid  service — the  flocking  crowd  told  of  it — 
which  glittered  and  resounded,  from  distant  depths, 
in  the  blaze  of  altar-lights  and  the  swell  of  organ 
and  choir.  It  didn't  match  his  own  day,  but  it  was 
much  less  of  a  discord  than  some  other  things  actual 
and  possible.  The  Oratory,  in  short,  to  make  him 
right,  would  do. 


393 


XXXVI 

THE  difference  was  thus  that  the  dusk  of  afternoon 
— dusk  thick  from  an  early  hour — had  gathered 
when  he  knocked  at  Mrs.  Condrip's  door.  He  had 
gone  from  the  church  to  his  club,  wishing  not  to  pre 
sent  himself  in  Chelsea  at  luncheon-time,  and  also 
remembering  that  he  must  attempt  independently  to 
make  a  meal.  This,  in  the  event,  he  but  imperfectly 
achieved:  he  dropped  into  a  chair  in  the  great  dim 
void  of  the  club  library,  with  nobody,  up  or  down,  to 
be  seen,  and  there  after  a  while,  closing  his  eyes, 
recovered  an  hour  of  the  sleep  that  he  had  lost  dur 
ing  the  night.  Before  doing  this  indeed  he  had 
written — it  was  the  first  thing  he  did — a  short  note, 
which,  in  the  Christmas  desolation  of  the  place,  he 
had  managed  only  with  difficulty  and  doubt  to  com 
mit  to  a  messenger.  He  wished  it  carried  by  hand, 
and  he  was  obliged,  rather  blindly,  to  trust  the  hand, 
as  the  messenger,  for  some  reason,  was  unable  to 
return  with  a  gage  of  delivery.  When,  at  four 
o'clock,  he  was  face  to  face  with  Kate  in  Mrs.  Con- 
drip's  small  drawing-room,  he  found,  to  his  relief, 
that  his  notification  had  reached  her.  She  was  ex 
pectant,  and  to  that  extent  prepared;  which  simpli 
fied  a  little — if  a  little,  at  the  present  pass,  counted. 
Her  conditions  were  vaguely  vivid  to  him  from  the 

394 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

moment  of  his  coming  in,  and  vivid  partly  by  their 
difference,  a  difference  sharp  and  suggestive,  from 
those  in  which  he  had  hitherto  constantly  seen  her. 
He  had  seen  her  but  in  places  comparatively  great — 
in  her  aunt's  pompous  house,  under  the  high  trees  of 
Kensington  and  the  storied  ceilings  of  Venice.  He 
had  seen  her,  in  Venice,  on  a  great  occasion,  as  the 
centre  itself  of  the  splendid  Piazza :  he  had  seen  her 
there,  on  a  still  greater  one,  in  his  own  poor  rooms, 
which  yet  had  consorted  with  her,  having  state  and 
ancientry  even  in  their  poorness;  but  Mrs.  Condrip's 
interior,  even  by  this  best  view  of  it  and  though  not 
flagrantly  mean,  showed  itself  as  a  setting  almost 
grotesquely  inapt.  Pale,  grave  and  charming,  she 
affected  him  at  once  as  a  distinguished  stranger — a 
stranger  to  the  little  Chelsea  street — who  was  mak 
ing  the  best  of  a  queer  episode  and  a  place  of  exile. 
The  extraordinary  thing  was  that  at  the  end  of  three 
minutes  he  felt  himself  less  appointedly  a  stranger  in 
it  than  she. 

A  part  of  the  queerness — this  was  to  come  to  him 
in  glimpses — sprang  from  the  air  as  of  a  general 
large  misfit  imposed  on  the  narrow  room  by  the 
scale  and  mass  of  its  furniture.  The  objects,  the  or 
naments  were,  for  the  sisters,  clearly  relics  and  sur 
vivals  of  what  would,  in  the  case  of  Mrs.  Condrip  at 
least,  have  been  called  better  days.  The  curtains 
that  overdraped  the  windows,  the  sofas  and  tables 
that  stayed  circulation,  the  chimney-ornaments  that 
reached  to  the  ceiling  and  the  florid  chandelier  that 

395 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

almost  dropped  to  the  floor,  were  so  many  memen 
tos  of  earlier  homes  and  so  many  links  with  their 
unhappy  mother.  Whatever  might  have  been  in 
itself  the  quality  of  these  elements,  Densher  could 
feel  the  effect  proceeding  from  them,  as  they  lump- 
ishly  blocked  out  the  decline  of  the  dim  day,  to  be 
ugly  almost  to  the  point  of  the  sinister.  They  failed 
to  accommodate  or  to  compromise;  they  asserted 
their  differences  without  tact  and  without  taste.  It 
was  truly  having  a  sense  of  Kate's  own  quality  thus 
promptly  to  see  them  in  reference  to  it.  But  that 
Densher  had  this  sense  was  no  new  thing  to  him,  nor 
did  he  in  strictness  need,  for  the  hour,  to  be  remind 
ed  of  it.  He  only  knew,  by  one  of  the  tricks  his  im 
agination  so  constantly  played  him,  that  he  was,  so 
far  as  her  present  tension  went,  very  specially  sorry 
for  her — which  was  not  the  view  that  had  determined 
his  start  in  the  morning;  yet  also  that  he  himself 
would  have  taken  it  all,  as  he  might  say,  less  hard. 
He  could  have  lived  in  such  a  place;  but  it  was  not 
given  to  those  of  his  complexion,  so  to  speak,  to  be 
exiles  anywhere.  It  was  by  their  comparative  gross- 
ness  that  they  could  somehow  make  shift.  His  nat 
ural,  his  inevitable,  his  ultimate  home — left,  that  is, 
to  itself — wasn't  at  all  unlikely  to  be  as  queer  and 
impossible  as  what  was  just  round  them,  though 
doubtless  in  less  ample  masses.  As  he  took  in  more 
over  how  Kate  wouldn't  have  been  in  the  least  the 
creature  she  was  if  what  was  just  round  them  hadn't 
mismatched  her,  hadn't  made  for  her  a  medium  in- 

396 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

volving  compunction  in  the  spectator,  so,  by  the 
same  stroke,  that  became  the  very  fact  of  her  relation 
with  her  companions  there,  such  a  fact  as  filled  him 
at  once,  oddly,  both  with  certainty  and  with  sus 
pense.  If  he  himself,  on  this  brief  vision,  felt  her  as 
alien  and  as,  ever  so  unwittingly,  ironic,  how  must 
they  not  feel  her,  and  how,  above  all,  must  she  not 
feel  them? 

Densher  could  ask  himself  that  even  after  she  had 
presently  lighted  the  tall  candles  on  the  mantelshelf. 
This  was  all  their  illumination  but  the  fire,  and  she 
had  proceeded  to  it  with  a  quiet  dryness  that  yet  left 
play,  visibly,  to  her  implication,  between  them,  in 
their  trouble,  and  in  default  of  anything  better,  of 
the  presumably  genial  Christmas  hearth.  So  far  as 
the  genial  went  this  had,  in  strictness,  given  their 
conditions,  to  be  all  their  geniality.  He  had  told 
her  in  his  note  nothing  but  that  he  must  promptly 
see  her  and  that  he  hoped  she  might  be  able  to  make 
it  possible;  but  he  understood,  from  the  first  look  at 
her,  that  his  promptitude  was  already  having  for  her 
its  principal  reference.  "  I  was  prevented,  this  morn 
ing,  in  the  few  minutes,"  he  explained,  "  asking  Mrs. 
Lowder  if  she  had  let  you  know,  though  I  rather 
gathered  she  had;  and  it's  what  I've  been  in  fact, 
since  then,  assuming.  It  was  because  I  was  so 
struck  at  the  moment  with  your  having,  as  she  did 
tell  me,  so  suddenly  come  here." 

"  Yes,  it  was  sudden  enough."  Very  neat  and 
fine  in  the  contracted  firelight,  with  her  hands  in  her 

397 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

lap,  Kate  considered  what  he  had  said.  He  had 
spoken  immediately  of  what  had  happened  at  Sir 
Luke  Strett's  door.  "  She  has  let  me  know  nothing. 
But  that  doesn't  matter — if  it's  what  you  mean." 

"  It's  part  of  what  I  mean,"  Densher  said;  but 
what  he  went  on  with,  after  a  pause  during  which  she 
waited,  was  apparently  not  the  rest  of  that.  "  She 
had  had,  from  Mrs.  Stringham,  her  telegram;  late 
last  night.  But  to  me  the  poor  lady  has  not  wired. 
The  event,"  he  added,  "  will  have  taken  place  yester 
day,  and  Sir  Luke,  starting  immediately,  one  can  see, 
and  travelling  straight,  will  get  back  to-morrow 
morning.  So  that  Mrs.  Stringham,  I  judge,  is  left 
to  face  in  some  solitude  the  situation  bequeathed  to 
her.  But  of  course,"  he  wound  up,  "  Sir  Luke 
couldn't  stay." 

Her  look  at  him  might  have  had  in  it  a  vague 
betrayal  of  the  sense  that  he  was  gaming  time. 
"  Was  your  telegram  from  Sir  Luke?  " 
"  No — I've  had  no  telegram." 

She  wondered.     "  But  not  a  letter ?  " 

"  Not  from  Mrs.  Stringham — no."  He  failed 
again,  however,  to  develop  this — for  which  her  for 
bearance  from  another  question  gave  him  occasion. 
From  whom  then  had  he  heard?  He  might,  at  last 
confronted  with  her,  really  have  been  gaining  time; 
and  as  if  to  show  that  she  respected  this  impulse  she 
made  her  inquiry  different.  "  Should  you  like  to 
go  out  to  her — to  Mrs.  Stringham?  " 

About  that  at  least  he  was  clear.     "  Not  at  all. 
398 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

She's  alone,  but  she's  very  capable  and  very  coura 
geous.  "  Besides "  He  had  been  going  on, 

but  he  dropped. 

"  Besides,"  she  said,  "there's  Eugenic ?  Yes, 
of  course  one  remembers  Eugenio." 

She  had  uttered  the  words  as  definitely  to  show 
them  for  not  untender;  and  he  showed,  equally, 
every  reason  to  assent.  "  One  remembers  him  in 
deed,  and  with  every  ground  for  it.  He'll  be  of  the 
highest  value  to  her — he's  capable  of  anything. 
What  I  was  going  to  say,"  he  went  on,  "  is  that 
some  of  their  people,  from  America,  must  quickly 
arrive." 

On  this,  as  happened,  Kate  was  able  at  once  to 
satisfy  him.  "  Mr.  Someone-or-other,  the  person 
principally  in  charge  of  Milly's  affairs — her  first 
trustee,  I  suppose — had  just  got  there  at  Mrs. 
Stringham's  last  writing." 

"  Ah,  that  then  was  after  your  aunt  last  spoke 
to  me — I  mean  the  last  time  before  this  morn 
ing.  I'm  relieved  to  hear  it.  So,"  he  said,  "  they'll 
do." 

"  Oh,  they'll  do."  And  it  came  from  each,  still,  as 
if  it  were  not  what  each  was  most  thinking  of.  Kate 
presently  got,  however,  a  step  nearer  to  that.  "  But 
if  you  had  been  wired  to  by  nobody,  what  the'n  this 
morning  had  taken  you  to  Sir  Luke?  " 

"  Oh,  something  else — which  I'll  presently  tell 
you.  It's  what  made  me  instantly  need  to  see  you; 
it's  what  I've  come  to  speak  to  you  of.  But  in  a 

399 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

minute.  I  feel  too  many  things,"  he  went  on,  "  at 
seeing  you  in  this  place."  He  got  up  as  he  spoke; 
she  herself  remained  perfectly  still.  His  movement 
had  been  to  the  fire,  and,  leaning  a  little,  with  his 
back  to  it,  to  look  down  on  her  from  where  He 
stood,  he  confined  himself  to  his  point.  "  Is  it  any 
thing  very  bad  that  has  brought  you?  " 

He  had  now,  however,  said  enough  to  justify  her 
wish  for  more;  so  that,  passing  this  matter  by,  she 
pressed  her  own  challenge.  "  Do  you  mean,  if  I 
may  ask,  that  she,  dying ?  "  Her  face,  won 
dering,  pressed  it  more  than  her  words. 

"  Certainly  you  may  ask,"  he  after  a  moment  said. 
"  What  has  come  to  me  is  what,  as  I  say,  I  came  ex 
pressly  to  tell  you.  I  don't  mind  letting  you  know," 
he  went  on,  "  that  my  decision  to  do  this  took  for 
me,  last  night  and  this  morning,  a  great  deal  of 
thinking  of.  But  here  I  am."  And  he  indulged  in 
a  smile  that  couldn't,  he  was  well  aware,  but  strike 
her  as  mechanical. 

She  went  straighter  with  him,  she  seemed  to 
show,  than  he  really  went  with  her.  "  You  didn't 
want  to  come?  " 

"  It  would  have  been  simple,  my  dear  " — and  he 
continued  to  smile — "  if  it  had  been,  one  way  or  the 
other,  only  a  question  of  *  wanting.'  It  took,  I  ad 
mit  it,  the  idea  of  what  I  had  best  do,  all  sorts  of  dif 
ficult  and  portentous  forms.  It  came  up  for  me, 
really — well,  not  at  all  to  my  happiness." 

This  word  apparently  puzzled  her — she  studied 
400 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

him  in  the  light  of  it.  "  You  look  upset — you've 
certainly  been  tormented.  You're  not  well." 

"Oh— well  enough!" 

But  she  continued  without  heeding.  "  You  hate 
what  you're  doing." 

"  My  dear  girl,  you  simplify  " — and  he  was  now 
serious  enough.  "  It  isn't  so  simple  even  as  that." 

She  had  the  air  of  thinking  what  it  then  might  be. 
"  I  of  course  can't,  with  no  clue,  know  what  it  is." 
She  remained,  however,  patient  and  still.  "  If  at 
such  a  moment  she  could  write  you,  one  is  inevitably 
quite  at  sea.  One  doesn't,  with  the  best  will  in  trie 
world,  understand."  And  then  as  Densher  had  a 
pause  which  might  have  stood  for  all  the  involved 
explanation  that,  to  his  discouragement,  loomed 
before  him :  "  You  haven't  decided  what  to  do." 

She  had  said  it  very  gently,  almost  sweetly,  and  he 
didn't  instantly  say  otherwise.  But  he  said  so  after 
a  look  at  her.  "  Oh  yes,  I  have.  Only  with  this 
sight  of  you  here  and  what  I  seem  to  see  in  it  for 

you !  "  And  his  eyes,  as  at  suggestions  that 

pressed,  turned  from  one  part  of  the  room  to  an 
other. 

"  Horrible  place,  isn't  it?  "  said  Kate. 

It  brought  him  straight  back  to  his  inquiry.  ."  Is 
it  for  anything  awful  you've  had  to  come?  " 

"  Oh,  that  will  take  as  long  to  tell  you  as  anything 
you  may  have.  Don't  mind,"  she  continued,  "  the 
*  sight  of  me  here,'  nor  whatever — which  is  more 

than  I  yet  know  myself — may  be  '  in  it '  for  me. 
VOL.  II.— 26 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

And  kindly  consider  too  that  I,  after  all,  if  you're  in 
trouble,  can  a  little  wish  to  help  you.  Perhaps  I 
can  absolutely  even  do  it." 

"  My  dear  child,  it's  just  because  of  the  sense  of 
your  wish !  I  suppose  I  am  in  trouble — I  sup 
pose  that's  it."  He  said  this  with  so  odd  a  sudden 
ness  of  simplicity  that  she  could  only  stare  for  it — 
which  he  as  promptly  saw.  So  he  turned  off  as  he 
could  his  vagueness.  "  And  yet  I  oughtn't  to  be." 
Which  sounded  indeed  vaguer  still. 

She  waited  a  moment.  "  Is  it,  as  you  say  for  my 
own  business,  anything  very  awful?  " 

"  Well,"  he  slowly  replied,  "  you'll  tell  me  if  you 
find  it  so.  I  mean  if  you  find  my  idea " 

He  was  so  slow  that  she  took  him  up.  "  Awful?  " 
A  sound  of  impatience — the  form  of  a  laugh — at 
last  escaped  her.  "  I  can't  find  it  anything  at  all  till 
I  know  what  you're  talking  about." 

It  brought  him  then  more  to  the  point,  though  it 
did  so  at  first  but  by  making  him,  on  the  hearthrug 
before  her,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  turn  awhile 
to  and  fro.  There  rose  in  him  even  with  this  move 
ment  a  recall  of  another  time — the  hour,  in  Venice, 
the  hour  of  gloom  and  storm,  when  Susan  Shepherd 
had  sat  in  his  quarters  there  very  much  as  Kate  was 
sitting  now,  and  he  had  wondered,  in  pain  even  as 
now,  what  he  might  say  and  might  not.  Yet  the 
present  occasion,  after  all,  was  somehow  the  easier. 
He  tried  at  any  rate  to  attach  that  feeling  to  it  while 
he  stopped  before  his  companion.  "  The  communi- 

402 


THE   WINGS    OF   THE  DOVE 

cation  I  speak  of  can't  possibly  belong — so  far  as  its 
date  is  concerned — to  these  last  days.  The  post 
mark,  which  is  legible,  does;  but  it  isn't  thinkable, 

for    anything    else,    that    she    wrote "      He 

dropped,  looking  at  her  as  if  she  would  understand. 

It  was  easy  to  understand.  "  On  her  death 
bed?  "  But  Kate  took  an  instant's  thought. 
"  Aren't  we  agreed  that  there  was  never  any  one  in 
the  world  like  her?  " 

"  Yes."  And  looking  over  her  head  he  spoke 
clearly  enough.  "  There  was  never  any  one  in  the 
world  like  her." 

Kate  from  her  chair,  always  without  a  movement, 
raised  her  eyes  to  the  unconscious  reach  of  his  own. 
Then,  when  the  latter  again  dropped  to  her,  she 
added  a  question.  "  And  won't  it,  further,  depend 
a  little  on  what  the  communication  is?  " 

"  A  little  perhaps — but  not  much.  It's  a  commu 
nication,"  said  Densher. 

"  Do  you  mean  a  letter?  " 

"  Yes,  a  letter.  Addressed  to  me  in  her  hand — in 
hers  unmistakably." 

Kate  thought.  "  Do  you  know  her  hand  very 
well?" 

"Oh,  perfectly." 

It  was  as  if  his  tone  for  this  prompted — with  a 
slight  strangeness — her  next  demand.  "Have  you 
had  many  letters  from  her?  " 

"  No.  Only  three  notes."  He  spoke  looking 
straight  at  her.  "  And  very,  very  short  ones." 

403 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

"  Ah,"  said  Kate,  "  the  number  doesn't  matter. 
Three  lines  would  be  enough  if  you're  sure  you  re 
member." 

"  I'm  sure  I  remember.  Besides,"  Densher  con 
tinued,  "  I've  seen  her  hand  in  other  ways.  I  seem 
to  recall  how  you  once,  before  she  went  to  Venice, 
showed  me  one  of  her  notes  precisely  for  that.  And 
then  she  once  copied  me  something." 

"  Oh,"  said  Kate,  almost  with  a  smile,  "  I  don't 
ask  you  for  the  detail  of  your  reasons.  One  good 
one's  enough."  To  which,  however,  she  added,  as 
if  precisely  not  to  speak  with  impatience  or  with  any 
thing  like  irony :  "  And  the  writing  has  its  usual 
look?" 

Densher  answered  as  if  even  to  better  that  de 
scription  of  it.  "  It's  beautiful." 

"  Yes— it  was  beautiful.  Well,"  Kate,  to  defer 
to  him  still,  further  remarked,  "  it's  not  news  to  us 
now  that  she  was  stupendous.  Anything's  possi 
ble." 

"Yes,  anything's  possible" — he  appeared  oddly 
to  catch  at  it.  "  That's  what  I  say  to  myself.  It's 
what  I've  been  seeing  you,"  he  a  trifle  vaguely  ex 
plained,  "  as  still  more  certain  to  feel." 

She  waited  for  him  to  say  more,  but  he  only, 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  turned  again  away, 
going  this  time  to  the  single  window  of  the  room, 
where,  in  the  absence  of  lamplight,  the  blind  had  not 
been  drawn.  He  looked  out  into  the  lamplit  fog, 
lost  himself  in  the  small  sordid  London  street — for 

404 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

as  sordid,  with  his  other  association,  he  saw  it — as  he 
had  lost  himself,  with  Mrs.  Stringham's  eyes  on  him, 
in  the  vista  of  the  Grand  Canal.  It  was  present  then 
to  his  recording  consciousness  that  when  he  had  last 
been  driven  to  such  an  attitude  the  very  depth  of  his 
resistance  to  the  opportunity  to  give  Kate  away  was 
what  had  so  driven  him.  His  waiting  companion 
had  on  that  occasion  waited  for  him  to  say  he  would; 
and  what  he  had  meantime  glowered  forth  at  was  the 
inanity  of  such  a  hope.  Kate's  attention,  on  her 
side,  during  these  minutes,  rested  on  the  back  and 
shoulders  he  thus  familiarly  presented — rested  as 
with  a  view  of  their  expression,  a  reference  to  things 
unimparted,  links  still  missing  and  that  she  must 
ever  miss,  try  to  make  them  out  as  she  would.  The 
result  of  her  tension  was  that  she  again  took  him  up. 
"  You  received — what  you  spoke  of — last  night  ?  " 

It  made  him  turn  round.  "  Coming  in  from 
Fleet  Street — earlier  by  an  hour  than  usual — I  found 
it  with  some  other  letters  on  my  table.  But  my  eyes 
went  straight  to  it,  in  an  extraordinary  way,  from  the 
door.  I  recognised  it,  knew  what  it  was,  without 
,  touching  it." 

"  One  can  understand."  She  listened  with  re 
spect.  His  tone,  however,  was  so  singular  that  she 
presently  added :  "  You  speak  as  if,  all  this  while, 
you  hadn't  touched  it." 

"  Oh  yes,  I've  touched  it.  I  feel  as  if,  ever  since, 
I'd  been  touching  nothing  else.  I  quite  firmly," 
he  pursued  as  if  to  be  plainer,  "  took  hold  of  it." 

405 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

"Then  where  is  it?" 

"  Oh,  I  have  it  here." 

"  And  you've  brought  it  to  show  me?  " 

"  I've  brought  it  to  show  you." 

So  he  said  with  a  distinctness  that  had,  among  his 
other  oddities,  almost  a  sound  of  cheer,  yet  making 
no  movement  that  matched  his  words.  She  could 
accordingly  but  show  again  her  expectant  face, 
while  his  own,  to  her  impatience,  seemed  to  fill,  per 
versely,  with  still  another  thought.  "  But  now  that 
you've  done  so  you  feel  you  don't  want  to." 

"  I  want  to  immensely,"  he  said,  "  but  you  tell  me 
nothing." 

She  smiled  at  him,  with  this,  finally,  as  if  he  were 
an  unreasonable  child.  "  It  seems  to  me  I  tell  you 
quite  as  much  as  you  tell  me.  You  haven't  yet  even 
told  me  how  it  is  that  such  explanations  as  you  re 
quire  don't  come  from  your  document  itself."  Then, 
as  he  answered  nothing,  she  had  a  flash.  '  You 
mean  you  haven't  read  it?  " 

"  I  haven't  read  it." 

She  stared.  "  Then  how  am  I  to  help  you  with 
it?" 

Again  leaving  her  while  she  never  budged  he 
paced  five  strides  and  again  he  was  before  her.  "  By 
telling  me  this.  It's  something,  you  know,  that  you 
wouldn't  tell  me  the  other  day." 

She  was  vague.     "  The  other  day?  " 

"  The  first  time  after  my  return — the  Sunday  1 
came  to  you.  What  is  he  doing,"  Densher  went  on, 

406 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

"  at  that  hour  of  the  morning  with  her?     What  does 
his  having  been  with  her  there  mean?  " 

"  Of  whom  are  you  talking?  " 

"  Of  that  man — Lord  Mark  of  course.  What  does 
it  represent?  " 

"  Oh,  with  Aunt  Maud?  " 

"  Yes,  my  dear — and  with  you.  It  comes  more  or 
less  to  the  same  thing;  and  it's  what  you  didn't  tell 
me,  the  other  day,  when  I  put  you  the  question." 

Kate  tried  to  remember.  "  You  asked  me  noth 
ing  about  any  hour." 

"  I  asked  you  when  it  was  you  last  saw  him — pre 
vious,  I  mean,  to  his  second  descent  at  Venice.  You 
wouldn't  say,  and  as  we  were  talking  of  a  matter 
comparatively  more  important,  I  let  it  pass.  But 
the  fact  remains  you  know,  my  dear,  that  you 
haven't  told  me." 

Two  things,  in  this  speech,  appeared  to  have 
reached  Kate  more  distinctly  than  the  others.  "  I 
'  wouldn't  say  '  ? — and  you  '  let  it  pass  '  ?  "  She 
looked  just  coldly  blank.  '  You  really  speak  as  if  I 
were  keeping  something  back." 

"  Well,  you  see,"  Densher  persisted,  "  you're  not 
even  telling  me  now.  All  I  want  to  know,"  he, 
however,  explained,  "  is  if  there  was  a  connection 
between  that  proceeding,  on  his  part,  which  was 
practically — oh,  beyond  all  doubt ! — the  shock  pre 
cipitating  for  her  what  has  now  happened,  and  any 
thing  that  had  occurred  with  him  previously  for 
yourself.  How  in  the  world  did  he  know  we're  en 
gaged?  " 

407 


XXXVII 

KATE  slowly  rose;  it  was,  since  she  had  lighted  the 
candles  and  sat  down,  the  first  movement  she  had 
made.  "Are  you  trying  to  fix  it  on  me  that  I  must 
have  told  him?  " 

She  spoke  not  so  much  in  resentment  as  in  pale 
dismay — which  he  showed  that  he  immediately  took 
in.  "  My  dear  child,  I'm  not  trying  to  '  fix  '  any 
thing;  but  I'm  extremely  tormented  and  I  seem  not 
to  understand.  What  has  the  brute  to  do  with  us 
any  way? " 

"  What  has  he  indeed?  "  Kate  asked. 

She  shook  her  head  as  if  in  recovery,  within  the 
minute,  of  some  mild  allowance  for  his  unreason. 
There  was  in  it — and  for  his  reason  really — one  of 
those  half-inconsequent  sweetnesses  by-  which  she 
had  often  before  made,  over  some  point  of  differ 
ence,  her  own  terms  with  him.  Practically  she  was 
making  them  now,  and  essentially  he  was  knowing 
it;  yet,  inevitably,  all  the  same,  he  was  accepting  it. 
She  stood  there  close  to  him,  with  something  in  her 
patience  that  suggested  her  having  supposed,  when 
he  spoke  more  appealingly,  that  he  was  going  to  kiss 
her.  He  had  not  been,  it  appeared;  but  his  contin 
ued  appeal  was  none  the  less  the  quieter.  "  What's 

408 


THE   WINGS  OF   THE   DOVE 

he  doing,  from  ten  o'clock  on  Christmas  morning, 
with  Mrs.  Lowder?  " 

Kate  looked  surprised.  "  Didn't  she  tell  you  he's 
staying  there?  " 

"  At  Lancaster  Gate?  "  Densher's  surprise  met 
it.  "  *  Staying  '  ? — since  when?  " 

"  Since  day  before  yesterday.  He  was  there  be 
fore  I  came  away."  And  then  she  explained — con 
fessing  it  in  fact  anomalous.  "  It's  an  accident — like 
Aunt  Maud's  having  herself  remained  in  town  for 
Christmas,  but  it  isn't  after  all  so  monstrous.  We 
stayed — and,  with  my  having  come  here,  she's  sorry 
now — because  we  neither  of  us,  waiting  from  day  to 
day  for  the  news  you  brought,  seemed  to  want  to  be 
with  a  lot  of  people." 

"  You  stayed  for  thinking  of — Venice?  " 

"  Of  course  we  did.  For  what  else?  And  even  a 
little,"  Kate  wonderfully  added — "it's  true  at  least 
of  Aunt  Maud — for  thinking  of  you." 

He  appreciated.  "  I  see.  Nice  of  you  every 
way.  But  whom,"  he  inquired,  "  has  Lord  Mark 
stayed  for  thinking  of?  " 

"  His  being  in  London,  I  believe,  is  a  very  com 
monplace  matter.  He  has  some  rooms  which  he 
has  had,  suddenly,  some  rather  advantageous  chance 
to  let — such  as,  with  his  confessed,  his  decidedly  pro 
claimed  want  of  money,  he  hasn't  had  it  in  him,  in 
spite  of  everything,  not  to  jump  at." 

Densher's  attention  was  entire.  "  In  spite  of 
everything?  In  spite  of  what?  " 

409 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

"  Well,  I  don't  know.  In  spite,  say,  of  his  being 
scarcely  supposed  to  do  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  To  try  to  get  money?  " 

"  To  try,  at  any  rate,  in  little  thrifty  ways.  Ap 
parently,  however,  he  has  had,  for  some  reason,  to 
do  what  he  can.  He  turned,  at  a  couple  of  days'  no 
tice,  out  of  his  place,  making  it  over  to  his  tenant; 
and  Aunt  Maud,  who  is  deeply  in  his  confidence 
about  all  such  matters,  said :  '  Come  then  to  Lan 
caster  Gate — to  sleep  at  least — till,  like  all  the  world, 
you  go  to  the  country.'  He  was  to  have  gone  to  the 
country — I  think  to  Matcham — yesterday  after 
noon  :  Aunt  Maud,  that  is,  told  me  he  was." 

Kate  had  been,  somehow,  for  her  companion, 
through  this  statement,  beautifully,  quite  soothing 
ly  »  suggestive.  "  Told  you,  you  mean,  so  that  you 
needn't  leave  the  house?  " 

"  Yes — so  far  as  she  had  taken  it  into  her  head 
that  his  being  there  was  part  of  my  reason." 

"  And  was  it  part  of  your  reason?  " 

"  A  little,  if  you  like.  Yet  there's  plenty  here — 
as  I  knew  there  would  be — without  it.  So  that," 
she  said  candidly,  "  doesn't  matter.  I'm  glad  I  am 
here :  even  if  for  all  the  good  I  do !  "  She  im 
plied,  however,  that  that  didn't  matter  either.  "  He 
didn't,  as  you  tell  me,  get  off  then  to  Matcham; 
though  he  may  possibly,  if  it  is  possible,  be  going 
this  afternoon.  But  what  strikes  me  as  most  prob 
able — and  it's  really,  I'm  bound  to  say,  quite  amia 
ble  of  him — is  that  he  has  declined  to  leave  Aunt 

410 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

Maud,  as  I've  been  so  ready  to  do,  to  spend  her 
Christmas  alone.  If,  moreover,  he  has  given  up 
Matcham  for  her,  it's  a  precede  that  won't  please  her 
less.  It's  small  wonder  therefore  that  she  insists, 
on  a  dull  day,  in  driving  him  about.  I  don't  pretend 
to  know,"  she  wound  up,  "  what  may  happen  be 
tween  them;  but  that's  all  I  see  in  it." 

"  You  see  in  everything,  and  you  always  did," 
Densher  returned,  "  something  that,  while  I'm  with 
you  at  least,  I  always  take  from  you  as  the  truth  it 
self." 

She  looked  at  him  as  if  consciously  and  even  care 
fully  extracting  the  sting  of  his  reservation;  then  she 
spoke  with  a  quiet  gravity  that  seemed  to  show  how 
fine  she  found  it.  "  Thank  you."  It  had  for  him, 
like  everything  else,  its  effect.  They  were  still  close 
ly  face  to  face,  and,  yielding  to  the  impulse  to  which 
he  had  not  yielded  just  before,  he  laid  his  hands  on 
her  shoulders,  held  her  hard  a  minute  and  shook  her 
a  little,  far  from  untenderly,  as  if  in  expression  of 
more  mingled  things,  all  difficult,  than  he  could 
speak.  Then,  bending,  he  applied  his  lips  to  her 
cheek.  He  fell,  after  this,  away  for  an  instant,  re 
suming  his  unrest,  while  she  kept  the  position  in 
which,  all  passive  and  as  a  statue,  she  had  taken  his 
demonstration.  It  didn't  prevent  her,  however, 
from  offering  him,  as  if  what  she  had  had  was 
enough  for  the  moment,  a  further  indulgence.  She 
made  a  quiet,  lucid  connection  and,  as  she  made  it, 
sat  down  again.  "I've  been  trying  to  place  exactly, 

411 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

as  to  its  date,  something  that  did  happen  to  me  while 
you  were  in  Venice.  I  mean  a  talk  with  him.  He 
spoke  to  me — spoke  out." 

"  Ah,  there  you  are !  "  said  Densher  who  had 
wheeled  round. 

"  Well,  if  I'm  'there/  as  you  so  gracefully  call  it, 
by  having  refused  to  meet  him  as  he  wanted — as  he 
pressed — I  plead  guilty  to  being  so.  Would  you 
have  liked  me,"  she  went  on,  "  to  give  him  an  answer 
that  would  have  kept  him  from  going?  " 

It  made  him,  a  little  awkwardly,  think.  "  Did  you 
know  he  was  going?  " 

"  Never  for  a  moment;  but  I'm  afraid  that — even 
if  it  doesn't  fit  your  strange  suppositions — I  should 
have  given  him  just  the  same  answer  if  I  had  known. 
If  it's  a  matter  I  haven't,  since  your  return,  thrust 
upon  you,  that's  simply  because  it's  not  a  matter  in 
the  memory  of  which  I  find  a  particular  joy.  I  hope 
that  if  I've  satisfied  you  about  it,"  she  continued, 
"  it's  not  too  much  to  ask  of  you  to  let  it  rest." 

"Certainly,"  said  Densher  kindly,  "Til  let  it 
rest."  But  the  next  moment  he  pursued :  "  He  saw 
something.  He  guessed." 

"  If  you  mean,"  she  presently  returned,  "  that  he 
was  unfortunately  the  one  person  we  hadn't  de 
ceived,  I  can't  contradict  you." 

"  No— of  course  not.  But  why"  Densher  still 

risked,  "  was  he  unfortunately  the  one  person ? 

He's  not  clever." 

"  He's  clever  enough,  apparently,  to  have  seen  a 
412 


THE  WINGS  OF   THE   DOVE 

mystery,  a  riddle,  in  anything  so  unnatural  as — all 
things  considered,  and  when  it  came  to  the  point — 
my  attitude.  So  he  gouged  out  his  conviction,  and 
on  his  conviction  he  acted." 

Densher  seemed,  for  a  little,  to  look  at  Lord 
Mark's  conviction  as  if  it  were  a  blot  on  the  face  of 
nature.  "  Do  you  mean  because  you  had  ap 
peared  to  him  to  have  encouraged  him?  " 

"  Of  course  I  had  been  decent  to  him.  Otherwise 
where  were  we?  " 

"  '  Where  ' ?  " 

'  You  and  I.  What  I  appeared  to  him,  however, 
hadn't  mattered.  What  mattered  was  how  I  ap 
peared  to  Aunt  Maud.  Besides,  you  must  remem 
ber  that  he  has  had  all  along  his  impression  of  you. 
You  can't  help  it,"  she  said,  "  but  you're  after  all — 
well,  yourself." 

"  As  much  myself  as  you  please.  But  when  I 
took  myself  to  Venice  and  kept  myself  there — 
what,"  Densher  asked,  "  did  he  make  of  that?  " 

"  Your  being  in  Venice  and  liking  to  be — which  is 
never  on  any  one's  part  a  monstrosity — was  explica 
ble  for  him  in  other  ways.  He  was  quite  capable 
moreover  of  seeing  it  as  dissimulation." 

"  In  spite  of  Mrs.  Lowder?  " 

"  No,"  said  Kate,  "  not  in  spite  of  Mrs.  Lowder 
now.  Aunt  Maud,  before  what  you  call  his  second 
descent,  hadn't  convinced  him — all  the  more  that 
my  refusal  of  him  didn't  help.  But  he  came  back 
convinced."  And  then  as  her  companion  still 

413 


THE   WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

showed  a  face  at  a  loss :  "  I  mean  after  he  had  seen 
Milly,  spoken  to  her  and  left  her.  Milly  convinced 
him." 

"  Milly?  "  Densher  again  but  vaguely  echoed. 

"  That  you  were  sincere.  That  it  was  her  you 
loved."  It  came  to  him  from  her  in  such  a  way  that 
he  instantly,  once  more,  turned,  found  himself  yet 
again  at  his  window.  "Aunt  Maud,  on  his  return 
here,"  she  meanwhile  continued,  "  had  it  from  him. 
And  that's  why  you're  now  so  well  with  Aunt 
Maud." 

He  only,  for  a  minute,  looked  out  in  silence — 
after  which  he  came  away.  "  And  why  you  are."  It 
was  almost,  in  its  extremely  affirmative  effect  be 
tween  them,  the  note  of  recrimination;  or  it  would 
have  been  perhaps  rather  if  it  hadn't  been  so  much 
more  the  note  of  truth.  It  was  sharp  because  it  was 
true,  but  its  truth  appeared  to  impose  it  as  an  argu 
ment  so  conclusive  as  to  permit  on  neither  side  a 
sequel.  That  made,  while  they  faced  each  other  over 
it  without  speech,  the  gravity  of  everything.  It 
was  as  if  there  were  almost  danger,  which  the  wrong 
word  might  start.  Densher  accordingly,  at  last, 
acted  to  better  purpose :  he  drew,  standing  there  be 
fore  her,  a  pocketbook  from  the  breast  of  his  waist 
coat  and  he  drew  from  the  pocketbook  a  folded  letter, 
to  which  her  eyes  attached  themselves.  He  re 
stored  then  the  receptacle  to  its  place,  and,  with  a 
movement  not  the  less  odd  for  being  visibly  instinct 
ive  and  unconscious,  carried  the  hand  containing 

414 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

his  letter  behind  him.  What  he  thus  finally  spoke 
of  was  a  different  matter.  "  Did  I  understand  from 
Mrs.  Lowder  that  your  father's  in  the  house?  " 

If  it  never  had  taken  her  long,  in  such  excursions, 
to  meet  him,  it  was  not  to  take  her  so  now.  "  In  the 
house,  yes.  But  we  needn't  fear  his  interruption  " 
— she  spoke  as  if  he  had  thought  of  that.  "  He's  in 
bed." 

"  Do  you  mean  with  illness?  " 

She  sadly  shook  her  head.  "  Father's  never  ill. 
He's  a  marvel.  He's  only — endless." 

Densher  thought.  "  Can  I,  in  any  way,  help  you 
with  him?  " 

"  Yes."  She  perfectly,  wearily,  almost  serenely, 
had  it  all.  "  By  our  making  your  visit  as  little  of  an 
affair  as  possible  for  him — and  for  Marian  too. 

"  I  see.  They  hate  so  your  seeing  me.  Yet  I 
couldn't — could  I? — not  have  come." 

"  No,  you  couldn't  not  have  come." 

"  But  I  can  only,  on  the  other  hand,  go  as  soon 
as  possible?  " 

Quickly,  it  almost  upset  her.  "  Ah,  don't,  to-day, 
put  ugly  words  into  my  mouth.  I've  enough  of  my 
trouble  without  it." 

"  I  know — I  know !  "  He  spoke  in  instant  plead 
ing.  "  It's  all,  only,  that  I'm  as  troubled  for  you. 
When  did  he  come?  " 

"  Three  days  ago — after  he  had  not  been  near  her 
for  more  than  a  year,  after  he  had  apparently,  and 
not  regrettably,  ceased  to  remember  her  existence; 

415 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

and  in  a  state  which  made  it  impossible  not  to  take 
him  in." 

Densher  hesitated.  "  Do  you  mean  in  such  want 
p  » 

"  No,  not  of  food,  of  necessary  things — not  even, 
so  far  as  his  appearance  went,  of  money.  He 
looked  as  wonderful  as  ever.  But  he  was — well,  in 
terror." 

"  In  terror  of  what?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Of  somebody — of  something. 
He  wants,  he  says,  to  be  quiet.  But  his  quietness  is 
awful." 

She  suffered,  but  she  couldn't  not  question. 
"What  does  he  do?" 

It  made  Kate  herself  hesitate.     "  He  cries." 

Again  for  a  moment  he  hung  fire,  but  he  risked  it. 
"  What  has  he  done?" 

It  made  her  slowly  rise,  and  they  were  fully,  once 
more,  face  to  face.  Her  eyes  held  his  own,  and  she 
was  paler  than  she  had  been.  "  If  you  love  me — 
now — don't  ask  me  about  father." 

He  waited  again  a  moment.  "  I  love  you.  It's 
because  I  love  you  that  I'm  here.  It's  because  I 
love  you  that  I've  brought  you  this."  And  he 
drew  from  behind  him  the  letter  that  had  remained 
in  his  hand. 

But  her  eyes  only — though  he  held  it  out — 
met  the  offer.  "  Why,  you've  not  broken  the 
seal!" 

"  If  I  had  broken  the  seal — exactly — I  should 
416 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

know  what's  within.  It's  for  you  to  break  the  seal 
that  I  bring  it." 

She  looked — still  not  touching  the  thing — inordi 
nately  grave.  "  To  break  the  seal  of  something  to 
you  from  her?  " 

"Ah,  precisely  because  it's  from  her.  I'll  abide 
by  whatever  you  think  of  it." 

"  I  don't  understand,"  said  Kate.  "  What  do  you 
yourself  think?"  And  then  as  he  didn't  answer: 
"  It  seems  to  me  /  think  you  know.  You  have  your 
instinct.  You  don't  need  to  read.  It's  the  proof." 

Densher  faced  her  words  like  an  accusation,  but 
like  an  accusation  for  which  he  had  been  prepared 
and  which  there  was  but  one  way  to  face.  "  I  have 
indeed  my  instinct.  It  came  to  me,  while  I  worried 
it  out,  last  night.  It  came  to  me  as  an  effect  of  the 
hour."  He  held  up  his  letter,  and  seemed  now  to 
insist  more  than  to  confess.  "  This  thing  had  been 
timed." 

"For  Christmas  eve?" 

"  For  Christmas  eve." 

Kate  had  suddenly  a  strange  smile.  "  The  season 
of  gifts !  "  After  which,  as  he  said  nothing,  she 
went  on :  "  And  had  been  written,  you  mean,  while 
she  could  write,  and  kept  to  be  so  timed?  " 

Only  meeting  her  eyes  while  he  thought,  he  again 
didn't  reply.  "  What  do  you  mean  by  the  proof?  " 

"  Why,  of  the  beauty  with  which  you've  been 
loved.  But  I  won't,"  she  said,  "  break  your  seaJ." 

"  You  positively  decline?  " 
VOL.  II.— 37  i - 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

"  Positively.  Never."  To  which  she  added 
oddly :  "  I  know  without." 

He  had  another  pause.  "  And  what  is  it  you 
know?  " 

"  That  she  announces  to  you  she  has  made 
you  rich." 

His  pause  this  time  was  longer.  "  Left  me  her 
fortune?" 

"  Not  all  of  it,  no  doubt,  for  it's  immense.  But 
money  to  a  large  amount.  I  don't  care,"  Kate  went 
on,  "  to  know  how  much."  And  her  strange  smile 
recurred.  "  I  trust  her." 

"  Did  she  tell  you?  "  Densher  asked. 

"  Never !  "  Kate  visibly  flushed  at  the  thought. 
"  That  wouldn't,  on  my  part,  have  been  playing  fair 
with  her.  And  I  did,"  she  added,  "  play  fair." 

Densher,  who  had  believed  her — he  couldn't  help 
it — continued,  holding  his  letter,  to  face  her.  He 
was  much  quieter  now,  as  if  his  torment  had  some 
how  passed.  "  You  played  fair  with  me,  Kate;  and 
that's  why — since  we  talk  of  proofs — I  want  to  give 
you  one.  I've  wanted  to  let  you  see — and  in 
preference  even  to  myself — something  I  feel  as  sa 
cred." 

She  frowned  a  little.     "  I  don't  understand." 

"  I've  asked  myself  for  a  tribute,  for  a  sacrifice  by 
which  I  can  specially  recognise " 

"  Specially  recognise  what?  "  she  demanded  as  he 
dropped. 

"  The  admirable  nature  of  your  own  sacrifice. 
418 


THE   WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

You  were  capable  in  Venice  of  an  act  of  splendid 
generosity." 

"  And  the  privilege  you  offer  me  with  that  docu 
ment  is  my  reward?  " 

He  made  a  movement.  "  It's  all  I  can  do  as  a 
symbol  of  my  attitude." 

She  looked  at  him  long.  "Your  attitude,  my 
dear,  is  that  you're  afraid  of  yourself.  You've  had 
to  take  yourself  in  hand.  You've  had  to  do  yourself 
violence." 

"  So  it  is  then  you  meet  me?  " 

She  bent  her  eyes  hard  a  moment  to  the  letter, 
from  which  her  hand  still  stayed  itself.  "  You  abso 
lutely  desire  me  to  take  it?  " 

"  I  absolutely  desire  you  to  take  it." 

"  To  do  what  I  like  with  it?  " 

"  Short,  of  course,  of  making  known  its  terms. 
It  must  remain — pardon  my  making  the  point — be 
tween  you  and  me." 

She  had  a  last  hesitation,  but  she  presently  broke 
it,  "  Trust  me."  Taking  from  him  the  sacred  script, 
she  held  it  a  little,  while  her  eyes  again  rested  on 
those  fine  characters  of  Milly's  which  they  had 
shortly  before  discussed.  "  To  hold  it,"  she  brought 
out,  "  is  to  know." 

"  Oh,  I  know!  "  said  Merton  Densher. 

"  Well  then,  if  we  both  do !  "  She  had  al 
ready  turned  to  the  fire,  nearer  to  which  she  had 
moved,  and,  with  a  quick  gesture,  had  jerked  the 
thing  into  the  flame.  He  started — but  only  half — 

419 


THE  WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

as  if  to  undo  her  action :  his  arrest  was  as  prompt  as 
the  latter  had  been  decisive.  He  only  watched, 
with  her,  the  paper  burn ;  after  which  their  eyes  again 
met.  "  You'll  have  it  all,"  Kate  said,  "  from  New 
York." 


420 


XXXVIII 

IT  was  after  he  had  in  fact,  two  months  later,  heard 
from  New  York  that  she  paid  him  a  visit  one  morn 
ing  in  his  own  quarters — coming  not  as  she  had 
come  in  Venice,  under  his  extreme  solicitation,  but 
as  a  need  recognised  in  the  first  instance  by  herself, 
even  though  also  as  the  prompt  result  of  a  missive 
delivered  to  her.  This  had  consisted  of  a  note  from 
Densher,  accompanying  a  letter,  "  just  to  hand,"  ad 
dressed  to  him  by  an  eminent  American  legal  firm, 
a  firm  of  whose  high  character  he  had  become  con 
scious  while  in  New  York  as  of  a  thing  in  the  air  it 
self,  and  whose  head  and  front,  to  the  principal  ex 
ecutor  of  Milly  Theale's  copious  will,  had  been 
duly  identified  at  Lancaster  Gate  as  the  gen 
tleman  hurrying  out,  by  the  straight  southern 
course,  before  the  girl's  death,  to  the  support 
of  Mrs.  Stringham.  Densher's  act  on  receipt 
of  the  document  in  question — an  act  as  to  which, 
and  the  bearings  of  which,  his  resolve  had  had 
time  to  mature — constituted,  in  strictness,  sin 
gularly  enough,  the  first  reference  to  Milly,  or  to 
what  Milly  might  or  might  not  have  done,  that  had 
passed  between  our  pair  since  they  had  stood  to 
gether  watching  the  destruction,  in  the  little  vulgar 
grate  at  Chelsea,  of  the  unrevealed  work  of  her  hand. 

421 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

They  had,  at  the  time,  and  in  due  deference  now,  on 
his  part,  to  Kate's  mention  of  her  responsibility  for 
his  call,  immediately  separated,  and  when  they  met 
again  the  subject  was  made  present  to  them — at  all 
events  till  some  flare  of  new  light — only  by  the  in 
tensity  with  which  it  mutely  expressed  its  absence. 
They  were  not  moreover  in  these  weeks  to  meet 
often,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  this  had,  during  Jan 
uary  and  a  part  of  February,  actually  become  for 
them  a  comparatively  easy  matter.  Kate's  stay  at 
Mrs.  Condrip's  prolonged  itself  under  allowances 
from  her  aunt  which  would  have  been  a  mystery  to 
Densher  had  he  not  been  admitted,  at  Lancaster 
Gate,  really  in  spite  of  himself,  to  the  esoteric  view 
of  them.  "  It's  her  idea,"  Mrs.  Lowder  had  there 
said  to  him  as  if  she  really  despised  ideas — which  she 
didn't;  "  and  I've  taken  up  with  my  own,  which  is  to 
give  her,  till  she  has  had  enough  of  it,  her  head.  She 
has  had  enough  of  it — she  had  that  soon  enough ;  but 
as  she's  as  proud  as  the  deuce  she'll  come  back  when 
she  has  found  some  reason — having  nothing  in  com 
mon  with  her  disgust — of  which  she  can  make  a 
show.  She  calls  it  her  holiday,  which  she's  spending 
in  her  own  way — the  holiday  to  which,  once  a  year  or 
so,  as  she  says,  the  very  maids  in  the  scullery  have  a 
right.  So  we're  taking  it  on  that  basis.  But  we  shall 
not  soon,  I  think,  take  another  of  the  same  sort. 
Besides,  she's  quite  decent ;  she  comes  often — when 
ever  I  make  her  a  sign;  and  she  has  been  good,  on 
the  whole,  this  year  or  two,  so  that,  to  be  decent  my- 

422 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

self,  I  don't  complain.  She  has  really  been,  poor 
dear,  very  much  what  one  hoped ;  though  I  needn't, 
you  know,"  Aunt  Maud  wound  up,  "  tell  you,  after 
all,  you  clever  creature,  what  that  was." 

It  had  been  partly,  in  truth,  to  keep  down  the  op 
portunity  for  this  that  Densher's  appearances  under 
the  good  lady's  roof  markedly,  after  Christmas,  in 
terspaced  themselves.  The  phase  of  his  situation 
that,  on  his  return  from  Venice,  had  made  them  for 
a  short  time  almost  frequent  was  at  present  quite  ob 
scured,  and  with  it  the  impulse  that  had  then  acted. 
Another  phase  had  taken  its  place,  which  he  would 
have  been  painfully  at  a  loss  as  yet  to  name  or  other 
wise  set  on  its  feet,  but  of  which  the  steadily  rising 
tide  left  Mrs.  Lowder,  for  his  desire,  quite  high  and 
dry.  There  had  been  a  moment  when  it  seemed 
possible  that  Mrs.  Stringham,  returning  to  America 
under  convoy,  would  pause  in  London  on  her  way 
and  be  housed  with  her  old  friend;  in  which  case  he 
was  prepared  for  some  apparent  zeal  of  attendance. 
But  this  danger  passed — he  had  felt  it  a  danger,  and 
the  person  in  the  world  whom  he  would  just  now 
have  most  valued  seeing  on  his  own  terms  sailed 
away  westward  from  Genoa.  He  thereby  only 
wrote  to  her,  having  broken,  in  this  respect,  after 
Milly's  death,  the  silence  as  to  the  sense  of  which,  be 
fore  that  event,  their  agreement  had  been  so  deep. 
She  had  answered  him  from  Venice  twice  and  had 
had  time  to  answer  him  twice  again  from  New  York. 
The  last  letter  of  her  four  had  come  by  the  same  post 

423 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

as  the  document  he  sent  on  to  Kate,  but  he  had  not 
gone  into  the  question  of  also  enclosing  that.  His 
correspondence  with  Milly's  companion  was  some 
how  already  presenting  itself  to  him  as  a  feature — 
as  a  factor,  he  would  have  said  in  his  newspaper — 
of  the  time,  whatever  it  might  be,  long  or  short,  in 
store  for  him;  but  one  of  his  acutest  current 
thoughts  was  apt  to  be  devoted  to  his  not  having  yet 
mentioned  it  to  Kate.  She  had  put  him  no  ques 
tion,  no  "  Don't  you  ever  hear?  " — so  that  he  had 
not  been  brought  to  the  point.  This  he  described 
to  himself  as  a  mercy,  for  he  liked  his  secret.  It  was 
as  a  secret  that,  in  the  same  personal  privacy,  he  de 
scribed  his  transatlantic  commerce,  scarce  even 
wincing  while  he  recognised  it  as  the  one  connection 
in  which  he  wasn't  straight.  He  had  in  fact  for  this 
connection  a  vivid  mental  image — he  saw  it  as  a 
small  emergent  rock  in  the  waste  of  waters,  the  bot 
tomless  grey  expanse  of  straightness.  The  fact  that 
he  had  now,  on  several  occasions,  taken  with  Kate 
an  out-of-the-way  walk  that  had,  each  time,  defined 
itself  as  more  remarkable  for  what  they  didn't  say 
than  for  what  they  did — this  fact  failed  somehow  to 
mitigate  for  him  a  strange  consciousness  of  expos 
ure.  There  was  something  deep  within  him  that 
he  had  absolutely  shown  to  no  one — to  the  compan 
ion  of  these  walks  in  particular  not  a  bit  more  than 
he  could  help;  but  he  was  none  the  less  haunted,  un 
der  its  shadow,  with  a  dire  apprehension  of  publicity. 
It  was  as  if  he  had  invoked  that  ugliness  in  some  stu- 

424 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

pid  good  faith;  and  it  was  queer  enough  that  on  his 
emergent  rock,  clinging  to  it  and  to  Susan  Shep 
herd,  he  should  figure  himself  as  hidden  from  view. 
That  represented,  no  doubt,  his  belief  in  her  power, 
or  in  her  delicate  disposition,  to  protect  him.  Only 
Kate,  at  all  events,  knew — what  Kate  did  know,  and 
she  was  also  the  last  person  interested  to  tell  it;  in 
spite  of  which  it  was  as  if  his  act,  so  deeply  associated 
with  her  and  never  to  be  recalled  nor  recovered,  was 
abroad  on  the  winds  of  the  world.  His  honesty,  as 
he  viewed  it,  with  Kate,  was  the  very  element  of  that 
menace :  to  the  degree  that  he  saw  at  moments,  as  to 
their  final  impulse  or  their  final  remedy,  the  need  to 
bury  in  the  dark  blindness  of  each  other's  arms  the 
knowledge  of  each  other  that  they  couldn't  undo. 

Save  indeed  that  the  sense  in  which  it  was  in  these 
days  a  question  of  arms  was  limited,  this  might  have 
been  the  intimate  expedient  to  which  they  were  act 
ually  resorting.  It  had  its  value,  in  conditions  that 
made  everything  count,  that  thrice  over,  in  Batter- 
sea  Park — where  Mrs.  Lowder  now  never  drove — 
he  had  adopted  the  usual  means,  in  sequestered  al 
leys,  of  holding  her  close  to  his  side.  She  could 
make  absences,  on  her  present  footing,  without  hav 
ing  too  inordinately  to  account  for  them  at  home — 
which  was  exactly  what,  for  the  first  time,  gave  them 
an  appreciable  margin.  He  supposed  she  could  al 
ways  say  in  Chelsea — though  he  didn't  press  it — that 
she  had  been  across  the  town,  in  decency,  for  a  look 
at  her  aunt;  whereas  there  had  always  been  reasons 

425 


THE  WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

at  Lancaster  Gate  for  her  not  being  able  to  plead 
the  look  at  her  other  relatives.  It  was  therefore 
between  them  a  freedom  of  a  purity  as  yet  untasted; 
which,  for  that  matter,  also,  they  made,  in  various 
ways,  no  little  show  of  cherishing  as  such.  They 
made  the  show  indeed  in  every  way  but  the  way  of  a 
large  use — an  inconsequence  that  they  almost 
equally  gave  time  to  helping  each  other  to  regard  as 
natural.  He  put  it  to  his  companion  that  the  kind 
of  favour  he  now  enjoyed  at  Lancaster  Gate,  the 
wonderful  warmth  of  his  reception  there,  cut,  in  a 
manner,  the  ground  from  under  their  feet.  He  was 
too  horribly  trusted — they  had  succeeded  too  well. 
He  couldn't  in  short  make  appointments  with  her 
without  abusing  Aunt  Maud,  and  he  couldn't  on  the 
other  hand  haunt  that  lady  without  tying  his  hands. 
Kate  saw  what  he  meant  just  as  he  saw  what  she  did 
when  she  admitted  that  she  was  herself,  to  a  degree 
scarce  less  embarrassing,  in  the  enjoyment  of  Aunt 
Maud's  confidence.  It  was  special  at  present — she 
was  handsomely  used;  she  confessed  accordingly 
to  a  scruple  about  misapplying  her  licence.  Mrs. 
Lowder  then  finally  had  found — and  all  unconscious 
ly  now — the  way  to  baffle  them.  It  was  not,  how 
ever,  that  they  didn't  meet  a  little,  none  the  less,  in 
the  southern  quarter,  to  point,  for  their  common 
benefit,  the  moral  of  their  defeat.  They  crossed  the 
river;  they  wandered  in  neighbourhoods  sordid 
and  safe;  the  winter  was  mild,  so  that,  mounting  to 
the  top  of  trams,  they  could  rumble  together  to  Clap- 

426 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

ham  or  to  Greenwich.  If  at  the  same  time  their 
minutes  had  never  been  so  counted  it  struck  Den- 
sher  that,  by  a  singular  law,  their  tone — he  scarce 
knew  what  to  call  it — had  never  been  so  bland.  Not 
to  talk  of  what  they  might  have  talked  of  drove  them 
to  other  ground;  it  was  as  if  they  used  a  perverse  in 
sistence  to  make  up  what  they  ignored.  They  con 
cealed  their  pursuit  of  the  irrelevant  by  the  charm 
of  their  manner;  they  took  precautions  for  a  cour 
tesy  that  they  had  formerly  left  to  come  of  itself; 
often,  when  he  had  quitted  her,  he  stopped  short, 
walking  off,  with  the  aftersense  of  their  change.  He 
would  have  described  their  change — had  he  so  far 
faced  it  as  to  describe  it — by  their  being  so  damned 
civil.  That  had  even,  with  the  intimate,  the  famil 
iar  at  the  point  to  which  they  had  brought  them, 
a  touch  almost  of  the  funny.  What  danger  had 
there  ever  been  of  their  becoming  rude — after  each 
had,  long  since,  made  the  other  so  tremendously  ten 
der?  Such  were  the  things  he  asked  himself  when 
he  wondered  what  in  particular  he  most  feared. 

Yet  all  the  while  too  the  tension  had  its  charm — 
such  being  the  interest  of  a  creature  who  could  bring 
one  back  to  her  by  such  different  roads.  It  was  her 
talent  for  life  again ;  which  found  in  her  a  difference 
for  the  differing  time.  She  didn't  give  their  tradi 
tion  up;  she  but  made  of  it  something  new.  Frank 
ly,  moreover,  she  had  never  been  more  agreeable, 
nor,  in  a  way — to  put  it  prosaically — better  com 
pany  :  he  felt  almost  as  if  he  were  knowing  her  on 

427 


THE  WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

that  defined  basis — which  he  even  hesitated  whether 
to  measure  as  reduced  or  as  extended;  as  if  at  all 
events  he  were  admiring  her  as  she  was  probably  ad 
mired  by  people  she  met  "  out."  He  hadn't,  in  fine, 
reckoned  that  she  would  still  have  something  fresh 
for  him;  yet  this  was  what  she  had — that  on  the  top 
of  a  tram  in  the  Borough  he  felt  as  if  he  were  next 
her  at  dinner.  What  a  person  she  would  be  if  they 
had  been  rich — with  what  a  genius  for  the  so-called 
great  life,  what  a  presence  for  the  so-called  great 
house,  what  a  grace  for  the  so-called  great  posi 
tions  !  He  might  regret  at  once,  while  he  was  about 
it,  that  they  weren't  princes  or  billionaires.  She  had 
treated  him  on  their  Christmas  to  a  softness  that  had 
struck  him  at  the  time  as  of  the  quality  of  fine  velvet, 
meant  to  fold  thick,  but  stretched  a  little  thin;  at 
present,  however,  she  gave  him  the  impression  of  a 
contact  multitudinous  as  only  the  superficial  can  be. 
Moreover,  throughout,  she  had  nothing  to  say  of 
what  went  on  at  home.  She  came  out  of  that,  and 
she  returned  to  it,  but  her  nearest  reference  was  the 
look  with  which,  each  time,  she  bade  him  good-bye. 
The  look  was  her  repeated  prohibition :  "  It's  what 
I  have  to  see  and  to  know — so  don't  touch  it.  That 
but  wakes  up  the  old  evil,  which  I  keep  still,  in  my 
way,  by  sitting  by  it.  I  go  now — leave  me  alone ! — 
to  sit  by  it  again.  The  way  to  pity  me — if  that's 
what  you  want — is  to  believe  in  me.  If  we  could 
really  do  anything  it  would  be  another  matter." 
He  watched  her,  when  she  went  her  way,  with  the 
428 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

vision  of  what  she  thus  a  little  stiffly  carried.  It  was 
confused  and  obscure,  but  how,  with  her  head  high, 
it  made  her  hold  herself!  He  in  truth,  in  his  own 
person,  might  at  these  moments  have  been  swaying 
a  little,  aloft,  as  one  of  the  objects  in  her  poised  bas 
ket.  It  was  doubtless  thanks  to  some  such  con 
sciousness  as  this  that  he  felt  the  lapse  of  the  weeks, 
before  the  day  of  Kate's  mounting  of  his  stair,  al 
most  swingingly  rapid.  They  contained  for  him  the 
contradiction  that,  whereas  periods  of  waiting  are 
supposed  in  general  to  keep  the  time  slow,  it  was  the 
wait,  actually,  that  made  the  pace  trouble  him.  The 
secret  of  that  anomaly,  to  be  plain,  was  that  he  was 
aware  of  how,  while  the  days  melted,  something  rare 
went  with  them.  This  something  was  only  a 
thought,  but  a  thought  precisely  of  that  freshness 
and  that  delicacy  that  made  the  precious,  of  what 
ever  sort,  most  subject  to  the  hunger  of  time.  The 
thought  was  all  his  own,  and  his  intimate  companion 
was  the  last  person  he  might  have  shared  it  with.  He 
kept  it  back  like  a  favourite  pang ;  left  it  behind  him, 
so  to  say,  when  he  went  out,  but  came  home  again 
the  sooner  for  the  certainty  of  finding  it  there.  Then 
he  took  it  out  of  its  sacred  corner  and  its  soft  wrap 
pings;  he  undid  them  one  by  one,  handling  them, 
handling  it,  as  a  father,  baffled  and  tender,  might 
handle  a  maimed  child.  But  so  it  was  before  him — 
in  his  dread  of  who  else  might  see  it.  Then  he  took 
to  himself  at  such  hours,  in  other  words,  that  he 
should  never,  never  know  what  had  been  in  Milly's 

429 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE  DOVE 

letter.  The  intention  announced  in  it  he  should  but 
too  probably  know;  but  that  would  have  been,  but 
for  the  depths  of  his  spirit,  the  least  part  of  it.  The 
part  of  it  missed  forever  was  the  turn  she  would  have 
given  her  act.  That  turn  had  possibilities  that, 
somehow,  by  wondering  about  them,  his  imagina 
tion  had  extraordinarily  rilled  out  and  refined.  It 
had  made  of  them  a  revelation  the  loss  of  which  was 
like  the  sight  of  a  priceless  pearl  cast  before  his  eyes 
— his  pledge  given  not  to  save  it — into  the  fathom 
less  sea,  or  rather  even  it  was  like  the  sacrifice  of 
something  sentient  and  throbbing,  something  that, 
for  the  spiritual  ear,  might  have  been  audible  as  a 
faint,  far  wail.  This  was  the  sound  that  he  cher 
ished,  when  alone,  in  the  stillness  of  his  rooms.  He 
sought  and  guarded  the  stillness,  so  that  it  might 
prevail  there  till  the  inevitable  sounds  of  life,  once 
more,  comparatively  coarse  and  harsh,  should 
smother  and  deaden  it — doubtless  by  the  same  pro 
cess  with  which  they  would  officiously  heal  the  ache, 
in  his  soul,  that  was  somehow  one  with  it.  It  deep 
ened  moreover  the  sacred  hush  that  he  couldn't 
complain.  He  had  given  poor  Kate  her  freedom. 

The  great  and  obvious  thing,  as  soon  as  she  stood 
there  on  the  occasion  we  have  already  named,  was 
that  she  was  now  in  high  possession  of  it.  This 
would  have  marked  immediately  the  difference — 
had  there  been  nothing  else  to  do  it — between  their 
actual  terms  and  their  other  terms,  the  character  of 
their  last  encounter  in  Venice.  That  had  been  his 

43° 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

idea,  whereas  her  present  step  was  her  own;  the  few 
marks  they  had  in  common  were,  from  the  first  mo 
ment,  to  his  conscious  vision,  almost  pathetically 
plain.  She  was  as  grave  now  as  before;  she  looked 
around  her,  to  hide  it,  as  before;  she  pretended,  as 
before,  in  an  air  in  which  her  words  at  the  moment 
itself  fell  flat,  to  an  interest  in  the  place  and  a  curios 
ity  about  his  "  things  " ;  there  was  a  recall,  in  short, 
in  the  way  in  which,  after  she  had  failed,  a  little,  to 
push  up  her  veil  symmetrically  and  he  had  said  she 
had  better  take  it  off  altogether,  she  had  acceded  to 
his  suggestion  before  the  glass.  It  was  just  these 
things  that  were  vain;  and  what  was  real  was  that  his 
fancy  figured  her  after  the  first  few  minutes  as  liter 
ally  now  providing  the  element  of  reassurance  which 
had  previously  been  his  care.  It  was  she,  supreme 
ly,  who  had  the  presence  of  mind.  She  made  in 
deed,  for  that  matter,  very  prompt  use  of  it.  "  You 
see  I've  not  hesitated  this  time  to  break  your 
seal." 

She  had  laid  on  the  table  from  the  moment  of  her 
coming  in  the  long  envelope,  substantially  filled, 
which  he  had  sent  her  enclosed  in  another  of  still 
ampler  make.  He  had,  however,  not  looked  at  it — 
his  belief  being  that  he  wished  never  again  to  do  so; 
besides  which  it  had  happened  to  rest  with  its  ad 
dressed  side  up.  So  he  "  saw  "  nothing,  and  it  was 
only  into  her  eyes  that  her  remark  make  him  look, 
without  an  approach  to  the  object  indicated.  "  It's 
not  *  my  '  seal,  my  dear ;  and  my  intention — which 

431 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

my  note  tried  to  express — was  all  to  treat  it  to  you  as 
not  mine." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  it's  to  that  extent  mine 
then?"  " 

"  Well,  let  us  call  it,  if  we  like,  theirs — that  of  the 
good  people  in  New  York,  the  authors  of  our  com 
munication.  If  the  seal  is  broken  well  and  good; 
but  we  might,  you  know,"  he  presently  added,  "  have 
sent  it  back  to  them  intact  and  inviolate.  Only  ac 
companied,"  he  smiled  with  his  heart  in  his  mouth, 
"  by  an  absolutely  kind  letter." 

Kate  took  it  with  the  mere  brave  blink  with  which 
a  patient  of  courage  signifies  to  the  exploring 
medical  hand  that  the  tender  place  is  touched.  He 
saw  on  the  spot  that  she  was  prepared,  and  with 
this  signal  sign  that  she  was  too  intelligent  not 
to  be,  came  a  flicker  of  possibilities.  She  was — 
merely  to  put  it  at  that — intelligent  enough  for  any 
thing.  "  Is  it  what  you're  proposing  we  should 
do?" 

"  Ah,  it's  too  late  to  do  it — well,  ideally.  Now, 
with  that  sign  that  we  know !  " 

"  But  you  don't  know,"  she  said  very  gently. 

"  I  refer,"  he  went  on  without  noticing  it,  "to 
what  would  have  been  the  handsome  way.  It's  be 
ing  despatched  again,  with  no  cognisance  taken  but 
one's  assurance  of  the  highest  consideration,  and  the 
proof  of  this  in  the  state  of  the  envelope — that  would 
have  been  really  satisfying." 

She  thought  an  instant.  "The  state  of  the  en- 
432 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DOVE 

velope  proving  refusal,  you  mean,  not  to  be  based 
on  the  insufficiency  of  the  sum?  " 

Densher  smiled  again  as  for  the  play,  however 
whimsical,  of  her  humour.  "  Well  yes — something 
of  that  sort." 

"  So  that  if  cognisance  has  been  taken — so  far  as 
I'm  concerned — it  spoils  the  beauty?  " 

"  It  makes  the  difference  that  I'm  disappointed  in 
the  hope — which  I  confess  I  entertained — that  you'd 
bring  the  thing  back  to  me  as  you  had  received  it." 

:<  You  didn't  express  that  hope  in  your  letter." 

"  I  didn't  want  to.  I  wanted  to  leave  it  to  your 
self.  I  wanted — oh  yes,  if  that's  what  you  wish  to 
ask  me — to  see  what  you'd  do." 

:<  You  wanted  to  measure  the  possibilities  of  my 
departure  from  delicacy?  " 

He  continued  steady  now;  a  kind  of  ease — in  the 
presence,  as  in  the  air,  of  something  he  couldn't  as 
yet  have  named — had  come  to  him.  "  Well,  I 
wanted — in  so  good  a  case — to  test  you." 

She  was  struck — it  showed  in  her  face — by  his 
expression.  "  It  is  a  good  case.  I  doubt  if  a  bet 
ter,"  she  said  with  her  eyes  on  him,  "  has  ever  been 
known." 

"  The  better  the  case  then  the  better  the  test !  " 

"  How  do  you  know,"  she  asked  in  reply  to  this, 
"  what  I'm  capable  of?  " 

"  I  don't,  my  dear !  Only,  with  the  seal  unbrok 
en,  I  should  have  known  sooner." 

"  I  see  " — she  took  it  in.  "  But  I  myself  shouldn't 

VOL.  II._a8  433 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

have  known  at  all.     And  you  wouldn't  have  known, 
either,  what  I  do  know." 

"  Let  me  tell  you  at  once,"  he  returned,  "  that  if 
you've  been  moved  to  correct  my  ignorance  I  very 
particularly  request  you  not  to." 

She  just  hesitated.  "  Are  you  afraid  of  the  effect 
of  the  corrections?  Can  you  only  do  it  by  doing  it 
blindly?" 

He  waited  a  moment.  "  What  is  it  that  you 
speak  of  my  doing?  " 

"  Why,  the  only  thing  in  the  world  that  I  take  you 
as  thinking  of.  Not  accepting — what  she  has  done. 
Isn't  there  some  regular  name  in  such  cases?  Not 
taking  up  the  bequest." 

"  There's  something  you  forget  in  it,"  he  said 
after  a  moment.  "  My  asking  you  to  join  with  me 
in  doing  so." 

Her  wonder  but  made  her  softer,  yet  didn't,  at  the 
same  time,  make  her  less  firm.  "  How  can  I '  join  ' 
in  a  matter  with  which  I've  nothing  to  do?  " 

"  How?     By  a  single  word." 

"And  what  word?" 

:<  Your  consent  to  my  giving  up." 

"  My  consent  has  no  meaning  when  I  can't  pre 
vent  you." 

"  You  can  perfectly  prevent  me.  Understand 
that  well,"  he  said. 

She  seemed  to  face  a  threat  in  it.  "  You  mean 
you  won't  give  up  if  I  don't  consent?  " 

"  Yes.     I  do  nothing." 

434 


THE   WINGS   OF  THE  DOVE 

"  That,  as  I  understand,  is  accepting." 

Densher  paused.     "  I  do  nothing  formal." 

'  You  won't,  I  suppose  you  mean,  touch  the 
money." 

"  I  won't  touch  the  money." 

It  had  a  sound — though  he  had  been  coming  to  it 
— that  made  for  gravity.  "  Who  then,  in  such  an 
event,  will?  " 

"  Any  one  who  wants  or  who  can." 

Again,  a  little,  she  said  nothing :  she  might  say  too 
much.  But  by  the  time  she  spoke  she  had  covered 
ground.  "  How  can  I  touch  it  but  through  you?  " 

'  You  can't.  Any  more,"  he  added,  "  than  I  can 
renounce  it  except  through  you." 

"  Oh,  ever  so  much  less !  There's  nothing,"  she 
said,  "  in  my  power." 

"  I'm  in  your  power,"  Merton  Densher  returned. 

"  In  what  way?  " 

"  In  the  way  I  show — and  the  way  I've  always 
shown.  When  have  I  shown,"  he  asked  as  with  a 
sudden  cold  impatience,  "  anything  else?  You 
surely  must  feel — so  that  you  needn't  wish  to  ap 
pear  to  spare  me  in  it — how  you  '  have  '  me." 

"  It's  very  good  of  you,  my  dear,"  she  nervously 
laughed,  "  to  put  me  so  thoroughly  up  to  it !  " 

"  I  put  you  up  to  nothing.  I  didn't  even  put  you 
up  to  the  chance  that,  as  I  said  a  few  moments  ago,  I 
saw  for  you  in  forwarding  that  thing.  Your  liberty 
is  therefore  in  every  way  complete." 

It  had  come  to  the  point,  really,  that  they  showed 
435 


THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

each  other  pale  faces,  and  that  all  the  unspoken  be 
tween  them  looked  out  of  their  eyes  in  a  dim  terror 
of  their  further  conflict.  Something  even  rose  be 
tween  them  in  one  of  their  short  silences — some 
thing  that  was  like  an  appeal  from  each  to  the  other 
not  to  be  too  true.  Their  necessity  was  somehow 
before  them,  but  which  of  them  must  meet  it  first? 
"  Thank  you !  "  Kate  said  for  his  word  about  her 
freedom,  but  taking  for  the  minute  no  further  action 
on  it.  It  was  blessed  at  least  that  all  ironies  failed 
them,  and  during  another  slow  moment  their  very 
sense  of  it  cleared  the  air. 

There  was  an  effect  of  this  in  the  way  he  soon 
went  on.  "  You  must  intensely  feel  that  it's  the 
thing  for  which  we  worked  together." 

She  took  up  the  remark,  however,  no  more  than  if 
it  were  commonplace;  she  was  already  again  occu 
pied  with  a  point  of  her  own.  "  Is  it  absolutely  true 
— for  if  it  is,  you  know,  it's  tremendously  interest 
ing — that  you  haven't  so  much  as. a  curiosity  as  to 
what  she  has  done  for  you  ?  " 

"  Would  you  like,"  he  asked,  "  my  formal  oath 
on  it?  " 

"  No — but  I  don't  understand.  It  seems  to  me 
in  your  place " 

"  Ah,"  he  couldn't  help  from  breaking  in,  "  what 
do  you  know  of  my  place?  Pardon  me,"  he  imme 
diately  added;  "  my  preference  is  the  one  I  express." 

She  had  in  an  instant,  all  the  same,  a  curious 
thought.  "  But  won't  the  facts  be  published?  " 

436 


THE   WKIGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

/ 

"  '  Published  '  ?  "—he  winced. 
"  I  mean  won't  you  see  them  in  the  papers?  " 
"  AK,  never !     I  shall  know  how  to  escape  that." 
It  seemed  to  settle  the  subject,  but  she  had,  the 

next  minute,  another  insistence.     "  Your  desire  is 

to  escape  everything?  " 
"  Everything." 

"  And  do  you  neea.>o  more  definite  sense  of  what 
it  is  that  you  ask  me  to  he^  vou  to  renounce?  " 

"  My  sense  is  sufficient  wuj,out  being  definite. 
I'm  willing  to  believe  that  the  ai...,lnt  of  money>s 
not  small." 

"  Ah,  there  you  are !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"If    she    was    to    leave    me    a    remembra^ » 

x        9 

he  quietly  pursued,   "  it  would  inevitably  not   u 
meagre." 

Kate  waited  as  for  how  to  say  it.  "  It's  worthy 
of  her.  It's  what  she  was  herself — if  you  remem 
ber  what  we  once  said  that  was." 

He  hesitated,  as  if  there  had  been  many  things. 
But  he  remembered  one  of  them.  "  Stupendous?  " 

"  Stupendous."  A  faint  smile  for  it — ever  so 
small — had  flickered  in  her  face,  but  had  vanished 
before  the  omen  of  tears,  a  little  less  uncertain,  had 
shown  themselves  in  his  own.  His  eyes  filled — 
but  that  made  her  continue.  She  continued  gen 
tly.  "  I  think  that  what  it  really  is  must  be  that 
you're  afraid.  I  mean,"  she  explained,  "  that  you're 
afraid  of  all  the  truth.  If  you're  in  love  with  her 
without  it,  what  indeed  can  you  be  more.  And 

437 


\ 


THE   WINGS  OF    THE   DOVE 

( 

you're  afraid — it's  wonderful! — to  be  in  love  with 
her." 

"  I  never  was  in  love  with  her,"  said  Denser. 

She  took  it,  but  after  a  little  she  met  *t.  "  I  be 
lieve  that  now — for  the  time  she  lived.  I  believe  it 
at  least  for  the  time  you  were  there  But  your 
change  came— as  it  might  well—  ite  day  you  last 
saw  her :  she  died  for  you  tV-  that  y°u  might  un 
derstand  her.  From  tV  •  hour  You  did"  With 
which  Kate  slowly/  *•  "  And  I  do  now.  She  did 
it  for  us  "  DP'  -uer  rose  *°  ^ace  ^er'  an<^  s^e  went 
on  with  b*-  Bought.  "  I  used  to  call  her,  in  my 
stupid'"-' — *or  want  °f  anything  better — a  dove. 
i  she  stretched  out  her  wings,  and  it  was  to  that 

ey  reached.     They  cover  us." 

*'  They  cover  us,"  Densher  said. 

"  That's  what  I  give  you,"  Kate  gravely  wound 
up.  "That's  what  I've  done  for  you." 

His  look  at  her  had  a  slow  strangeness  that  had 
dried,  on  the  moment,  his  tears.  "  Do  I  under 
stand  then- ?  " 

"  That  I  do  consent?"  She  gravely  shook  her 
head.  "  No — for  I  see.  You'll  marry  me  without 
the  money;  you  won't  marry  me  with  it.  If  I  don't 
consent,  you  don't." 

"You  lose  me?"  He  showed,  though  naming 
it  frankly,  a  sort  of  awe  of  her  high  grasp.  "  Well, 
you  lose  nothing  else.  I  make  over  to  you  every 
penny." 

Prompt  was  his  own  clearness,  but  she  had  no 
438 


\ 

I 

THE   WINGS   OF   THE   DOVE 

smile,  this  time,  to  spare.  "  Precise!}; — so  that  I 
must  choose." 

"  You  must  choose." 

Strange  it  was  for  him  then  that  sh.»  stood  in  his 
own  rooms  doing  it,  while,  with  an  intensity  now  be 
yond  any  that  had  ever  made  his  breath  come  slow 
to  him,  he  waited  for  her  act.  "  There's  but  one 
thing  that  can  save  you  from  my  choice." 

"  From  your  choice  of  my  surrender  to  you?  " 

'  Yes  " — and  she  gave  a  nod  at  the  long  envelope 
on  the  table — "  your  surrender  of  that." 

"What  is  it  then!*" 

"  Your  word  of  honour  that  you're  not  in  love 
with  her  memory." 

"  Oh— her  memory !  " 

"  Ah  " — she  made  a  high  gesture — "  don't  speak 
of  it  as  if  you  couldn't  be.  /  could,  in  your  place; 
and  you're  one  for  whom  it  will  do.  Her  memory's 
your  love.  You  want  no  other." 

He  heard  her  out  in  stillness,  watching  her  face, 
but  not  moving.  Then  he  only  said :  "  I'll  marry 
you,  mind  you,  in  an  hour." 

"  As  we  were?  " 

"  As  we  were." 

But  she  turned  to  the  door,  and  her  headshake 
was  now  the  end.  "  We  shall  never  be  again  as  we 
were!" 

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